Some girls
by maggiequeen
Summary: I know there are some sick f***ers out there and tragedy happens every day, but writing a song about a dude shooting dead his pregnant daughter? What the actual f*** was David Geddes huffing when he penned that one?
1. Now

**Hey! So if you're reading this, thanks! This just came out of the many scenes I pictured and that didn't fit in my multi-chapter story When the levee breaks (which you should check out ;)) and I figured, hey, why not give this insane plot a shot?**

**So, it's canon until Sectionals, but it picks up from there. Enjoy!**

* * *

Don't be positive.

Don't be positive.

Do _not _be positive.

_Do._

_Not._

_Be._

_Positive._

When she thinks about it, now sitting cross legged on the toilet with her face in her hands and avoiding at all costs looking at the direction of the five pregnancy tests in process over the counter by the sink, Rachel Berry has the feeling that befriending Santana Lopez and Brittany Vogel might just be the most unwise decision she's ever made. It was their fault. Two months ago, Rachel was a wholesome teen with a bright future, had no cloud obscuring her sensible judging, she led a perfectly quiet life. She was still the same person, mind you, Rachel had not been abducted by aliens and replaced by a wilder version of herself, she still had the same goals and the same relentless resolution. She'd just happened to have been testing the waters of what it was culturally acknowledged as normal teen behaviour. Why was that? Well, case in point, it was Santana and Brittany's fault.

They had dragged her into their lifestyle. How could it be explained, if not, that she knew from experience that you do not mix your alcohol, that no matter what everybody thought in broad day light a good pair of come fuck me heels would even bring Dave Karofsky to his knees, that San's pool house is the best go-to place when you wanted intimacy with a certain guy, that skipping classes and tardiness is condoned when you're a Cheerio or that there are better ways to spend a Friday night than perfectioning her repertoire.

But Rachel was nothing if not self aware. She knew she couldn't blame it all on San and Britt, and while it was shocking, Rachel did enjoy every minute of the past two months. She'd thought she would sink to a whole new low in the McKinley hierarchy after Sectionals, given her less than exemplary part in the whole Babygate affair. But the two Cheerios had stood by her and when people came on and gave her crap, they'd lashed out until they stopped and took Rachel to have non-fat frozen yougurt to the mall.

The smile found her lips even if she was trying hard to feel crapy about her current situation. San and Britt were her friends and even if their company had changed Rachel's attitude in a way that ultimately led to her taking five pregnancy tests, she wouldn't chage one minute of it all.

Her cell phone beeped signing the end of the three minutes the tests required and Rachel jumped to her feet and run to the sink where her fate (_drama much? hell-o _Santana's voice rang in her head) awaited her.

(Don't be positive. Don't be positive. Don't be positive.)

It was positive.

All five of them were.

Rachel sighed heavily, closed her eyes so she wouldn't be looking at the offending result windows lined up in front of her, counted to ten and collected her thoughts. She was very sensible and she was not one to become completely over dramatic by this. Woman got pregnant all the time, it was natural.

Now, if she could just determine who the father was.

* * *

**So? what do you think? I love reviews because you know, they are the purest form of love for writers**

**(In case you're wondering, no, this is not a one shot.)**


	2. How it began

**Thanks you so much for all the reviews and the alerts! I honestly didn't think I'd get so much responce. **

**So, I'm a liitle unsure about the rating. While I don't have it me to be totally explicit with adult scenes, there are still going to be a lot of references. Let me know if you think I should up this to M.**

**I don't own Glee and the tittle of this fic is a song by the Rolling Stones.**

Chapter 2: How it began.

Taking a seat on a bus shouldn't be some epic, life changing decision. The bus was yellow, it had seats and a special handicapped harness, their driver's name was Chuck and it smelled way better after Ms. Pillsbury desinfeected it. Lima was only fourty five minutes away and surely, that short drive would held no significancy on the greater masterplan of one's life, right?

Well, _no_.

The front of the bus was practically empty except for Quinn who was sitting alone in one of the first double seats and Jacob Ben Israel. In the middle, next to Artie's safety harness, Tina, Kurt and Mercedes crowded on a couple of Cosmos. Two rows back to the left Finn sat alone with Matt and Mike ocupying the seat behind him. One row behind them but on the right side were Brittany and Santana and off way to the very back of the bus was Puck.

Rachel could show some sympathy over Quinn and keep her company even thought the girl had bluntly told her to leave her alone when Rachel apologized for unleashing Babygate, or venture around Jacob since he was aparently the only one who liked her, no matter how disgusting she found it, or she could join the gleeks and gracefully endure the barely masked insults Kurt was so keen on offending her with, or she could go to Finn and keep him company on what was undoubtedly the worst situation he'd ever been involved in, or aproach Puck and silently encourage him not to give up on his overly screwed up life.

Or sit alone.

That _sucked_.

But it was apparently her only chance given that every one of her alternatives entailed a very tiring emotional process Rachel was just not in the mood for. Yes, they had just won Sectionals and she'd delivered the most thrilling performance ever, but that didn't mean she enjoyed being surrounded by conflict. She'd had her part at it, had started it in a way, but Rachel didn't want to be pulled any deeper than she already was. And chosing a seat in the bus would be like waving a big aligence flag, whether it was Quinn's, Puck's or Finn's.

Maybe she could convince Ms. Pillsbury to let her sit up front with her.

"Rachel."

Her head snapped up as she tried to localize the voice that had called her name. Because she had heard it and Rachel fairly knew to whom it belonged, but she just couldn't believe she was actually talking to her.

"Me?" Rachel mouthed dorkily and pointed at herself. She then noticed she'd been standing in the front of the bus studying her potential seating arragement for a good deal of time.

"Yes, _you_. You're the only Rachel," Santana rolled her eyes. "Come over."

Feeling what could only be described as dread, Rachel determinedly walked up to Santana and Brittany mantaining her face as unreadable as possible. The few times Santata had adressed to her where to insult her and/or throw her lipstick on the toilet.

"How can I assist you?" She asked politely.

"Assists? What are you a waitress or something?" Santana sneered and Brittany giggled.

Rachel, on her part, saw red.

What was wrong with this people? Why were they always mocking her?

"We saw you looking around the bus and wanted to know if you wanted to sit with us," Brittany said quickly, noticing Rachel's suddenly enraged features.

"Oh?"

"We're like thin and totally hot so the three of us can fit," she went on with a shrug. "And we can watch Supernatural on San's phone."

"Why?" Rachel breathed.

"Well," Brittany frowned. "I think Jared Paladecki is really hot and San has a thing for Jensen Ackles, but we can watch Gossip Girl too."

"Only with less male hotness," Santana sighed. "Though Blair's pretty hot."

"I meant why would you want me to sit with you," Rachel clarified slowly. She didn't want to insult the girls' intelect, even if they were rambling about TV shows and their sex appeal.

"Who else are you going to sit with?" Santana asked boldly, but after a second, she scooted over closer to Brittany and made room for Rachel.

A small smile tugging Rachel's lips, she took her seat next to Santana. "I prefer Supernatural and I obviously ship Jensen Ackles. I blame the bad-boy, male bravado."

"Me too," Santana said wickedly as she fished her phone from her pocket.

* * *

They only come up with the idea of preparing a especial song for Mr. Schuester when they are forced to wait half an hour on a gas station waiting for Ms. Pillsbury to finish decontaminating herself after Jacob Ben Israel sneezed over her. It was too cold outside and the deadbeat place was too suspicious to venture around, so New Directions stayed locked in the bus while Chuck the Driver guarded the bathroom door and made sure no one walked in on Ms. Pillsbury. Tina's mom called her and incidentaly her ring tone was 'My life would suck without you', so before they knew what was happening, they were all singing along and Mike was doing some very complicated looking dance moves and jumping over the seats, and there was laughter and jokes and it was simply good. That half an hour started off as the potential setting of a multiple manslaughter and ended up with them creating a new number out of fun and featuring their favourites moves from their favourite routines.

(That's what people calls good, old-fashioned deflecting.)

So on monday there was no time to bitch and argue and feel uncomfortable as they were too busy with the last touches before the clock marked three thirty and it was time to blow Mr. Schuester off his mindhole.

Except that when he ran away crying Ms. Pillsbury's name and with teary eyes like he'd just been struck with a revelation, they were left in the same room with nothing to do.

_That's _when it all went to shit.

Because Finn was ignoring Puck, Puck was scowling at Finn, Quinn looked like she wanted to cry, Finn actually cried a little and rehersal was cut short barely minutes after Mr. Schuester left. Given that they needed a distraction to function and as none was being provided, everybody left to avoid any kind of conflict leading interaction. Rachel was mentally going over a pros and cons list trying to decide if she should stay and practice in the auditorium or go home instead. It was getting cold, after all, and thanks to Figgins budget cuts the heating stopped at four sharp. Rachel cared too much for her vocal chords to risk getting sick.

"Have we thanked you today for telling Finn about the baby daddy?" Kurt said haughtily as he secured the buttons of his Mark Jacobs trench. "Glee Club would be just too boring if you hadn't. It really does serve having a trout mouth among us."

"Shut your trap, closet case," Santana sneered from Rachel's back. Next to her, Brittany was boring holes into Kurt's head.

Looking every bit offended, Kurt marched out of the room.

"You didn't have to do that," Rachel said humbly as she hugged her book to her chest. "He doesn't really mean it."

"He does," Brittany assured her. "You're just too nice to get it," Santana nodded in agreement.

Rachel's jaw tightened and her nose hit up high. You'd think being nice was something to strive after, not to be ridiculed about. Whatever had happened to civility and morals? "I was raced in an enviroment of understanding and camraderie. A bad attitude and general malicious disposition will get you nowhere in life."

"Whatever. We were defenfing you," Santana rolled her eyes and locked and arm on Rachel's.

(Rachel not only didn't see it coming, but also she was a little afraid Santana was going to like, kill her or something.)

Brittany locked her arm on her left one. "Do you like frozen yougurt?"

* * *

"I'm really concerned."

Brittany blinked thoughtfully from across the table sippimg on her mocciatto. "Don't worry," the blond smiled. "It's non-fat. I'm not gaining any weight."

"That's not what I meant," Rachel said slowly, glancing from Brittany to Santana sitting next to her in the small café round table. "Why are you hanging out with me?"

"Why are you so suspisious?" Santana inquired arching her brow.

Rachel's lip quivered slightly and she unconsciously tapped the table with her nail. "Last time someone willingly hung out with me he had an agenda with ulterior and inappropriate motives."

In unison, the girls leaned forward as if they were sharing some big, dirty gossip. "Was it Puck? Did he go down on you?" Santana asked eagerly.

"Wh- what?"

"He's good, isn't he?" Brittany put in.

"I honestly wouldn't know--"

"Uh, no one to compare him with?" Santana smiled and nodded her head with sympathy.

"I have never had any kind of sex whatsoever with Noah Puckerman," Rachel stated frankly. "Never."

"Oh," Santana breathed slightly embarrased. Then, annoyed "What did you mean then?"

"Kurt wanted to help me at one time," Rachel started moving uncomfortable in her seat and avoiding locking gazes. "He said that a make over would catch Finn's eye and would inevitably result in his declaring his undying love for me."

"He said that?" Brittany scowled. It wasn't a good facial expression on her, though, she just looked like she had something nasty under her nose.

"Well, not eaxctly with those words," Rachel admitted. "But the sentiment remains."

"So did you do it?" Santana leaned closer one more time.

"Yes. But Kurt turned me into the exact opposite of what Finn was looking for in a girl, which ultimately led me to dance around him in a cat suit."

One beat. Another. And then.

Hilarity.

Rachel had never seen Brittany and Santana laugh like that. Seriously. She'd seen them smirk spitefully and cunningly and conspiratorily, sexily even. But never heard a good heart felt bark of laughter from either one of them. She'd be offended she was being laughed at if Rachel weren't shocked witless.

"Please tell me you're kidding!" Santana brushed a tear from her eye.

"He said, and I quote, that I looked like a sad clown hooker," Rachel confessed with her heart on her throat.

And just like that, it wasn't funny anymore.

"Aw, I can't believe Finn would say that to your face," Brittany shot up from her chair, knelt next to Rachel and hugged her. "After all the effort you must've gone through!"

"Hudson's a dimwit, he probably thought he was doing you a fovour," Santana scoffed. "Let's go to Victoria's Secret," she suggested. "Rick Martinez got frisky the other day and my favourite black lace bra is ruined," she commented as the three left the food court, arms locked with Rachel in the middle. "Ain't no dry cleaner that can get _that _off."

It wasn't until they were scrutinizing the display and comparing lace to silk that Santana answered Rachel's original question.

"You were the only one who believed me when I said that I hadn't leaked the set list," She mentioned like she was talking about the prices. "And when they turned to Brittany when she fessed up, you didn't treat her like an idiot like the rest. That means something to us. I'm gonna try these," she held up her choices and headed to the dressing room.

"I like this thong," Brittany admitted inspecing and animal print item. Without a second thought, she followed Santana.

And Rachel? Rachel smiled dorkily, grabbed the first bra she could get her hands on and rushed past the costumers. Once on the dressing room, she made sure she ocupied the curtained partition next to Brittany's, which in turn was next to Santana's.

(Even if that meant blocking the poor lady with the flannel pajamas.)

* * *

**So? Are you liking this? As you noticed, I'm starting from the begining and work our way till Rachel finds out she's preggo. Shouldn't take long though, just a couple of chapters..**

**Be a darling! Leave a review!**


	3. When Rachel started to let go

Chapter 3: When Rachel started to let go

Rachel knew it was risky and that most people wouldn't venture into her current situation without a serious color-coded plan B, but she didn't question Santana and Brittany's extension of friendship after that day at the mall. She firmly believed that people were naturally good and that everyone deserved a second chance, even if they did use to leave nasty comments on her MySpace page and throw her lipstick in the toilet. The possibility that they could be using their new kinship as a way to create humiliating situations involving her did cross her mind (and yes, she felt terrible about it), but she was comforted every time with the thought that their methods had never been so elaborate. They preferred inflicting emotional pain in a bold, straightforward manner. And Rachel liked to think she was excellent at reading people. She just knew they weren't lying to her when they smiled and talked about everything and anything as if they'd been hanging out together since the beginning of time.

They fell into a sort of routine. They would have breakfast at school every morning (Brittany brought the non-fat hot cocoa, Rachel the whole wheat bagels and Santana the latest gossip), meet between classes and hang out after school a couple of times a week. Lunch was a challenge since Rachel hardly ate in the cafeteria due to both her past humiliating experiences and the fact that she had literally no place to sit (she'd tried to do so with the original members of the Glee club months ago, but it hadn't worked out. Obviously.) She generally packed her own lunch at home and had a bite at the auditorium or the choir room while she went through some potential Glee music on her iPod. Brittany and Santana, on the other hand, were supposed to sit with their fellow Cheerios or with the resident jocks. While Santana was top dog and she could, in theory, just have Rachel sit with them as well, she believed her friend wouldn't feel too comfortable eating lunch with people sneering at her and calling her names (plus there were the inevitable consequences that would follow such a scenario and McKinley High just wasn't ready for a social revolution). So, on Mondays and Thursdays the three girls would drive to the mall for lunch and the rest of the week, San and Britt would make a short appearance at the cafeteria before heading to the auditorium or the choir room with Rachel.

By no means did they intend to keep their friendship a secret. In fact, Brittany and Santana were determined to get Rachel to feel more at home in her school, without having to pack an emergency slushie facial outfit before leaving home. They called in all the favors they could and all the sexual favors they could trade just so no one gave her crap for hanging out with them (or for just existing, but whatever). They wanted everyone to see that Rachel, while crazy almost ninety per cent of the time, could also be fun. Cool even. And if that was too hard, at the very least get them to back the hell off.

There was also some underwear swapping involved for Brittany, who actually got Jacob Ben Israel and some other cybernerds to lay off the offending blogs that stalked Rachel's every move. Jewfro was so happy with his new pair of Brittanyspankies that he even posted a very flattering review online about Sectionals and all the shenanigans that went on backstage.

The Glee club was initially shocked but the girls' nothing-to-see-here attitude made them quickly lose interest. Besides, there was way too much drama going on to care about who Rachel was friends with.

Finn had blown off some considerable steam and was calmer now, though he still wasn't talking to Quinn and Puck. He was focusing on working hard for Regionals and the rest didn't need to be told twice that following his lead was the best idea in the history of ever. Slowly, they settled down and rehearsals didn't have to be cut short after someone stormed out. Quinn wasn't speaking to anybody unless directly spoken to and then only about topics that in no way approached the baby daddy drama. The biological daddy was visibly not happy about this, since he was being shunned and his dignity tossed away every time he reached out to Quinn to offer his help, only to get rejected again.

They were all holding their collective breaths though, waiting for the moment when Rachel and Finn would finally get together after their epic/tragic/angsty/comical/whatever romantic journey. They all knew it was coming and they all had front row seats. When she wasn't with San and Britt, Rachel was with Finn, talking to him and hearing him out as he lamented over his ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend.

(Kurt hissed 'rebound' under his breath every time he got to witness the affection and sexual tension between the two, and while Finn was convinced Kurt had an itchy throat, Rachel was no fool and had perfect hearing.)

(At such times, Brittany and Santana would kindly point out to Kurt that his cuticles were out of control and that his eyebrows were uneven. That shut him up every time.)

"They are so cute together," Brittany said dreamily as she leaned beside Santana's locker staring at Finn and Rachel, standing barely inches away from each other on one end of the hallway.

"They're revolting," her friend sneered.

"They're in love!" she protested.

"Please," Santana rolled her eyes and shut her locker. "They are sophomores. You can't fall in love in high school. In like, maybe. in lust, _totally_. But in love? No way."

"Says who?" Brittany frowned and crossed her arms over her Cheerios winter uniform (Sue Sylvester was a monster, but she didn't force the frilly little skirts on them on winter. They had red, white and black original tracksuits instead).

Santana rolled her eyes again (it was her signature response). "Finn's the only guy who ever paid attention to her so Rachel likes him. She has a crush," she stated as she walked to class. "That's not love."

"She has a notepad with 'I love Finn Hudson' written all over it," Brittany pointed out slowly.

"Still a crush," the Latina insisted. "Plus, she's sixteen. She doesn't _need _a boyfriend," she added secretively. "She should be having fun, not pining over a guy who's clearly not bright."

"You're saying Finn is dumb?" Brittany crooked her head to the side. She hoped that wasn't true... She always copied off him on English. "Why would you think that?"

"Two words: hot tub," Santana smirked.

"Who are you bitches talking about?" Puck said coming up behind them.

"Finnchel," Brittany said, not minding the insult one bit. Coming from Puck, both girls knew it was an endearment. "And San thinks Finn's dumb. What do you think?"

"Finn's not dumb," Puck's temper kicked in. Dude may not be talking to him, but Puck was still his boy. "He's just-- _misunderstood_."

"Whatever. I just can't believe she's still hung up on him."

"They're in love!" Brittany insisted.

Puck snorted. "Please, Berry wants to jump him and Finn's desperate to tap anything with a pulse. That's not love."

"See?" Santana ginned triumphal. "Lust. Not love."

"You two are just jealous."

Puck laughed. The mere idea of him being jealous of Crazy Berry and his best friend was proof enough of how intellectually challenged Brittany really was.

"All I'm saying, and you gotta agree with me on this one, is that Rachel shouldn't be losing herself in a relationship when she could be like enjoying the perks of high school," she stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. "I kinda feel like we _owned _her."

Puck thought about that. He knew Santana hadn't really included him on the 'we', but that didn't change the fact that he was pretty much on the same page. He was royally responsible for making a pariah out of Rachel, and if he was missing something out of the high school experience or what-the-fuck-ever, it was his fault as much as it was Santana's and Brittany's.

"But what if she doesn't want to?" Brittany said slowly. "What if she really just wants to be with Finn? He _is _a nice guy."

"Uh, what about the time he told her she looked like a clown hooker?" Santana deadpanned. "That wasn't very nice of him."

"True," Brittany nodded looking far to the distance. "And she's really hot under all that plaid. I bet she can have every guy she wants."

"With the proper training, yeah," San smirked broadly. "Once she gets all that male attention, she's not gonna want shit from Hudson."

"She dumped me," Puck pointed out, having been temporarily cut off the conversation. "I'm as good as it gets. It's gonna take a lot more than attention to break into her head."

"That's not important," Santana waved it off. "And there are far hotter guys," she added as an afterthought.

"Blow me."

"Been there, done that. It gets boring."

"Right back at ya," Puck snorted playfully and walked away to the nurse's office to take his midmorning nap.

"You have that look on your face," Brittany mentioned as they took their seats for English class. "I don't like that look because it usually means I have to lie to my mom about sneaking out and she has like spidey sense or something and she can always tell--"

"Relax. I'm not gonna get you into trouble," she assured her before she leaned over her desk to whisper in Rachel ear a second after she took her seat in a huff. "There's a party this Friday. Wanna come?"

* * *

"So then my mom starts crying and my dad pulls out the law school pamphlets and my grandpa was saying some Chinese proverb and I was like 'why can't I be a professional dancer?' It'd be awesome!" Mike said excitedly, bouncing on his heels while maintaining perfect grip on his beer. "Can you imagine? I could pop'n lock till I retire!"

Puck and Matt shared a single look of mutual understanding. Mike had only recently discovered you could make a living out of dancing and he would not shut the fuck up about it.

"Sure man," Matt patted his shoulder amiably. "Maybe you should talk to Mr. Schue or Miss P about it."

"Get some info," Puck added sipping his beer.

"Thanks guys!" Mike said teary-eyed and hugged them. "When I make it to wherever it is that professional dancers want to go to, I promise I'll email back!"

"Dude, get off!" Puck unceremoniously brushed him off. "Don't ever do that," he threatened him lowly. "I'm serious. I'll kick your ass so badly your 'nads will fall off."

"I was just showing my appreciation," Mike pouted.

"Well, you're a dude; learn to deal with it _like _a dude."

"Oh fuck," Matt gasped dramatically as he stared at the front door his dark chocolate eyes darkening considerably.

Puck and Mike turned around to see what held their friend speechless, and Mike choked on his drink.

"What?" Puck frowned confused. "It's just Berry."

"Yeah, but," Matt shook his head slowly. "She looks--"

"Hot," Mike finished his sentence in a beat.

Puck stood there staring at his dumbass friends blinking like dumbasses and checking out a girl they spent hours with every week, acting like she became hot all of a sudden. Times like this were when he firmly believed he was friends with morons. Because newsflash, suckers, Berry was, is and always has been one hot piece of ass, even if she didn't look particularly steamy tonight. Sure, she was wearing skinny jeans that showcased the hottest ass this side of Ohio and her low-cut black top was practically painted on, but given what she normally wore, she actually looked kind of…boring. There was hardly any skin showing _at all_.

"Close your mouths," he snapped. "What's wrong with you fuckers?"

"She's gonna make a lot of friends tonight," Matt predicted.

"Dude, you're out of your mind," Puck hissed, incredibly annoyed. "She doesn't look that hot. She's not even wearing a skirt."

The bitterness that fact evoked in Puck went unnoticed by his friends. Instead they followed Rachel with something akin to lust in their eyes as she walked with Brittany and Santana around the room.

"Not everyone digs the school girl look," Mike pointed out wisely. "She's like…show choir hot all the time, and show choir hot is not nearly as hot as _party hot_."

"Whatever," he snorted.

(There was _nothing_ wrong with show choir hot.)

* * *

Rachel had been unsure about coming to the party, to say the least. In fact, she'd been so against it, Brittany and Santana had to take a detour to her house and coax her into coming at the very last minute.

She had her reasons, and they were perfectly sensible ones. For starters, the upper crust of McKinley High social hierarchy was attending, and she had a history of not getting along with them (which was putting it lightly).The only people she could talk to would be Britt and San and she supposed she could try to talk to Puck, Matt and Mike, but she had the feeling that wouldn't go so well. Being team mates didn't necessarily make them friends (she'd learned that lesson the hard way) and she didn't want to make matters worse. Furthermore, she did not want to impose her presence where she was clearly not wanted. This was strictly a jock/Cheerio gathering, even if there were some plus ones around. She knew San and Britt were being incredibly nice inviting her and she admitted that they had a way of making it sound fun, but Rachel just wasn't up for it.

(Her real reason, though: Finn wasn't going.)

Santana and Brittany had other ideas and they were hell bent that she attended. They said as much as they burst into Rachel's house, full-on determined to bring her there kicking and screaming if they had to. They dragged her upstairs under the shocked gazes of her dads, insisting over and over that she simply had to go with them. Rachel's sagacious, well-thought out and bulleted list of excuses did nothing to change their determination; if anything, she only gave them ammunition to convince her otherwise.

"You're into Finn right?" Santana said as she opened Rachel's closet and started going through the racks. "Well, if you have your way, you two will end up together." She omitted her personal opinions on the matter. If Santana had _her_ way, Rachel would be forgetting Frankenteen and enjoying life. "Finn's a jock and he's going to parties all the time. If you're his girlfriend, you need to fit in. Or at least feel comfortable and stuff."

"But Finn isn't coming tonight," Rachel blinked, considering Santana's point.

"Which is why it's perfect practice! C'mon!" she urged as she pulled a pair of blue jeans and dangled it in front of Rachel. "It'll be fun!"

"I don't know…"

"Aren't stars going to all these cool parties all the time?" Brittany asked rhetorically. "Don't you want to be a star?"

And _that's_ why Santana would go down swinging every time someone implied Britt was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. If cunning and manipulation weren't evidence of one's intelligence, she didn't know what was.

So Rachel went along, a little nervous at first and if she was shivering (which she was) it had nothing to do with the cold night air. But she was nothing if not determined and as Brittany had pointed out so wisely, stars did attend to their fair share of parties; it'd be neglectful of her not to start getting comfortable with the whole ordeal in advance. Her two friends brushed off her worries and laughed when she came up with questions on their way to the party (questions like should she find their host and greet him and compliment his household and his wondrous party-planning skills, what conversation topics were appropriate, was there any group activity planned or were they just supposed to go about randomly, and so on). She didn't want to leave anything to chance because as popular opinion goes, Rachel Berry was the most hated girl in McKinley: if there was anything she could do to ensure that this night wouldn't turn out to be another humiliating memory to talk over with Dr. Schultz, she sure as hell wanted to be doing it.

As she walked in, she instinctively flinched. There was nothing she could do to help it; years and years of slushie facials definitely left their mark and all the politically correct excuses she'd come up in the past hours to avoid the party all boiled down to one equation: her general existence plus a crowd of people who hated her and were holding drinks equaled Hell. Nothing good could come out of it.

But shockingly, no one threw anything at her and while there was some animosity in the air, Rachel felt it was hardly enough to make her uncomfortable. She also noticed a lot of people checking her out (yes, _people_, as in males as well as females. The homosexual community in Lima was not nearly as small as the uptight thought it was) and she was grateful for San and Britt's fashion advice. She owned the clothes she was wearing, had bought them that one fateful time Kurt took her shopping, and even if she felt restrained in the jeans and missed the swinging of her skirts, she was feeling a little more than accomplished right now.

(Why did it even matter to her so much? The majority of the people in the party did not like her, never had and, Rachel had grown accustomed to believe, never would; why did she need them to accept her?)

(Because she was a star, of course, and you don't get awards if you have no fans lobbying the Academy.)

She got a few drinks and she chatted amiably with a few people (they were every bit as shocked as she was when she didn't automatically start talking a mile a minute about how awesome her future would be) and soon she felt comfortable enough to go on her own. This suited Britt and San just fine since they were eye fucking (as they so elegantly put it) some basketball and wrestling jocks, respectively. She approached Matt and Mike on one occasion and they made her laugh with their not-so-subtle sexual innuendo.

A couple of drinks later (she had absolutely no idea what was in the red gigantic cup she was holding but it was simply heaven), Rachel wandered into a room where some guys were all over- enthusiastically about a videogame while a game of poker was going on tucked away in the corner. There were four guys playing and a bunch of girls messing around. Drawn to the table instantly, she approached it and watched intently as they made their second betting round with Oreos.

Rachel was so caught in the game it took her two whole rounds to realize Puck was one of the players, and she only did because he'd won every time. She wasn't at all surprised to find him there though; she figured it fitted, him being all mysterious and secretive and smoldering when he got his Oreos.

And was it just the alcohol she'd imbibed or was he actually scowling at her?

"Can I play?" she heard herself say and took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

The guys (minus Puck, for obvious reasons) shared looks of amusement and smirked lewdly. The fact that she was pretty drunk didn't go unnoticed by them.

"Sure," one of them said. "But we have a rule. If a chick's playing, then it's strip poker."

"Okay," Rachel shrugged and received her five cards enthusiastically.

A couple of rounds later, she'd rendered them all to their boxers, with the exception of Puck who'd only lost his shirt and whose mood had improved considerably as he watched Rachel fucking Berry annihilate the three not-quite-so-cocky-anymore dudes. Now they were staring at her with a newfound respect or something, what with her own sly smirk and feminine wiles.

(He kind of wished she wasn't so good at poker. At one point in the third round, she leaned over the table to steal some Oreos from the pot and from his seat, he got a pretty good view of her cleavage and her bra. Royal blue lace. Fucking hot. But she just would not lose the top!)

(Which was the only reason why none of the guys had smacked her hand away when she reached for the Oreos.)

(Little did they know, Rachel had done it on purpose.)

* * *

It was like having a battalion hammering on her head from the inside out.

Slowly, because merely thinking made things reverberate through her head, Rachel opened her eyes and found herself staring directly at Santana's bedroom ceiling. Sure enough, Brittany was propped up against some pillows next to her, fully awake and engrossed in heavy texting, with Santana on the other side, applying polish to her nails. There was a bucket on Rachel's side of the bed.

Her surroundings did not startle her. Santana had extended the invitation to sleep over post-party when she and Brittany had shown up at her house last night and of course, Rachel had asked permission beforehand.

"You're a fun drunk," Brittany said cheerily, glancing at her with a knowing smile.

Rachel gave her a crooked smile. "I don't feel so funny now," she growled as she sank further into the pillows.

"That's why you don't mix your booze," Santana said, momentarily lifting her eyes from her chore. "Are you feeling alright? You didn't seem sick last night, but we got you a bucket just in case."

"Thank you," Rachel yawned and lazily brushed a lock of hair off her face. "But me getting sick to the stomach is unlikely. I don't have a gag reflex."

Santana sat up straight and gaped with some surprise while Brittany blinked. "You know, if we advertise that right, you can be the most popular girl in school," Santana grinned slowly.

Rachel rolled her eyes but ruined it by smiling coyly. With a final sigh, she propped herself up and swung her legs out from under the covers. She needed desperately a toothbrush.

Walking across the bedroom to the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself on Santana's full-size mirror and nearly choked. "Why am I wearing Puck's jersey?" she croaked.

"I collect them from guys," Santana shrugged. "You needed something to wear last night. I let you choose but you figured you'd be more comfortable in that one since you dated him and shit."

Rachel accepted her explanation with ease, ignoring how uneasy she felt given that she'd pictured herself wearing Finn's jersey a million times and ended up with Puck's first by chance. Just like she'd pictured Finn would be her first real boyfriend, the first guy who'd get the 'you hurt her, we kill you' talk from her dads before he followed her upstairs to her bedroom with the promise of a serious make out session, and even then, he'd been trumped by Puck as well.

Puck needed to stop taking Rachel's firsts, especially when they were intended for Finn

(The many, _many _levels of wrong in that sentence escaped her. She did not stop to think that she had willingly and joyfully given him all those firsts. Even if she was drunk last night when she picked his jersey.)

(Or that she secretly wished she'd acquired her own number 20 jersey previously. Preferably from Puck himself. _After _he'd worn it.)


	4. When R talks to Q and P talks to H

Chapter four: When Rachel talks to Quinn and Puck talks to Hiram

"No," Santana barked. "Leave that or so help me I will bitchslap you with it."

Rachel remained unperturbed as she loaded book after book in her pink roller bag. "We were told to empty our lockers for the duration of the holiday break. I might need these, so it's only reasonable that I take them home with me."

Her friend sighed heavily and fought the urge to shake her. "You won't need your books," Santana said very slowly. "You don't have any homework and you can check up on your 'academic existence' online. Leave. The. Effing. Books."

Okay, so maybe Santana had a point, a very good one, but Rachel was still resolute to completely vacate her locker of all its contents. It wasn't because she just enjoyed being an uptight bookworm (or a control freak, as wagging tongues would refer to her); it was something she _had_ to do.

Avoiding Santana's eyes (which she was sure were boring holes into her skull) but still catching her altogether pissed and set face, Rachel bent to secure the latches of the bag. "I don't keep stuff in my locker for long periods of time when I know I won't be able to see to it because they tend to get damaged," she explained lightly, but ruining the effect by hiding her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Winter break, 8th grade," Rachel recited worrying her bottom lip. "My locker was vandalized and all the contents shoved down the toilet of the first floor girl's room. They had to re-do the plumbing," she added nodding fervently.

"Oh," Santana went slightly pink and she looked away for an instant. "But that's not gonna happen again," she promised (and yes, it was an honest to God promise. Santana would shower hell on whoever had the guts try any form of bullying on Rachel now and the whole school knew it).

"I know," Rachel said as the two girls started walking, the throng of students parting for them in the hallway. "I guess old habits die hard or something like that."

"But you _know_ know, right? You're not just saying?" Santana prodded further, hiding her desperation to assure her friend that she wouldn't let it happen.

Rachel laughed lightly. "Yes, I know know."

"Glad that's clear," Santana muttered under her breath. "So did your dads un-ground you already?" she quickly changed the subject.

Rachel smirked deviously. Her fathers had not been happy last week when she showed up completely hung-over the day after the party. They had given her this long talk on the evils of underage drinking, especially with no responsible adults around to watch over her. They warned her that alcohol always led to bad choices and that anything could happen to her if she wasn't aware and alert. They even called Santana's house (repeatedly) to check if she had actually spent the night there and not elsewhere. The result? She was grounded for an indefinite time. "Daddy didn't want to, but Dad has a soft spot I just can't help poking at."

"So you can come over to Britt's tonight?" Santana waggled her eyebrows as they turned the corner, heading to the Home Ec room where Brittany was waiting for them. Rachel grinned and nodded. "Cool," she determined haughtily. "How about the party tomorrow then?"

Rachel's confident smirk wavered at that. "They're only letting me hang out with you guys tonight because there's no alcohol involved and since I'll be at Brittany's they can keep a proverbial eye on me. A party is an altogether different scenario."

"That blows," Santana rolled her eyes.

"It's a great inconvenience, yes," Rachel sighed. She'd grown to enjoy her weekend outings with the girls; she found the whole teenage wildness cliché was actually quite intoxicating. "As an independent woman I find their lack of trust severely upsetting."

Her friend stared at her for a moment. "Why can't you just say it blows?"

Rachel smiled widely. "I'm unique that way."

The Home Ec room opened just as they reached it, with Quinn appearing on the other side of it.

"Hi Quinn," Santana greeted nonchalantly. Rachel merely smiled shyly and waved at her.

Quinn nodded to both of them and walked away without saying a word. Strange as it was, Rachel had gotten used to Quinn's odd behavior. She wasn't talking to anybody unless absolutely necessary and even then she kept it short and to the point. Rachel admired her resolve to carry on with her pregnancy on her own because it showed she wasn't just strong and determined, but also independent and proud. But despite this, there was a part of her that wished Quinn would at least talk to Santana and Brittany. She'd noticed since she'd become friends with them that they took their friendships very seriously. She also learned that they hadn't given up on Quinn even though their relationship was rocky at best. Santana called her cell every morning before going to school and once a week she talked to Quinn's sister Clair, who respected her sister's decision to alienate her friends but had no problem in giving them detailed updates of her state. Brittany, on the other hand, would text her several times a day with whatever random thought crossed her mind. Quinn never texted back or picked up her phone. She didn't even acknowledge their attempt to keep in touch with her, but both girls were persistent in their efforts to reach her while respecting Quinn's ever-present (and apparently necessary) bubble of solitude.

Saying something about needing to go to the bathroom, Rachel ran after Quinn, following her back to her locker. She had no idea what she was doing, but the urge to do something was too strong to let it slide. She was sure she'd regret it later, given that most of her outbursts of honesty tended to get her into all sorts of unimaginable trouble, but Rachel just couldn't help herself.

"Are you not talking to them because you hate me?" she blurted out with barely a pause even after her hasty sprint (her breath control was remarkable, but that was neither here nor there). "Because if that's true then I'm sure we can come up with some sort of agreement to make both our friendships work perfectly fine, and as I've said before, I don't hate you so you can rest assured that I will do nothing that would be detrimental to your relationship with Brittany and Santana."

Quinn's mouth had gaped open during the duration of her speech. "Excuse me?" she finally bit out. "Contrary to what you think, the universe does not revolve around you," she snapped, expertly yanking her locker door open.

"That's not what I meant," Rachel mentally scolded herself and tried to amend her words. "They miss you."

"Listen, I'm not ready to have people in my life just yet, okay?" Quinn said tiredly, like she was forced to have this kind of conversation every day (and come to think of it, maybe she did). "I need to figure things out and it's easier if I'm on my own."

"How does pushing people away help you?"

Quinn stared at her with an arched brow and an emotion dangerously close to wrath in her eyes because did Rachel _seriously_ just question her MO? "I don't have to explain myself to anybody, least of all you," she ground out before walking away.

For a pregnant girl, Quinn was rather quick on her feet. But Rachel was in superb shape and if her daily forty minutes on her elliptical were good for something, it would be this. "You don't have to do this alone, no one should," she stated, as she rounded around the pregnant blonde's form. "We all need someone to lean on!"

The laughter bursting out of Quinn's mouth was equally scary and unexpected. Rachel stood there awkwardly waiting for the other girl to explain the hilarity of the situation.

"Are you going to start singing now?" Quinn chuckled.

Taken aback by the sudden mood swing, Rachel frowned and raked her memory before it hit her. "Lean on me," she muttered. "I didn't even realize I was quoting it," she gave Quinn a crooked smile. "The sentiment still stands though."

Quinn looked away and nodded. "I know. I just need a little more time."

Rachel smiled at her and left it at that, feeling the slightest bit hopeful. Hey, it wasn't every day that her sticking her nose in other people's business didn't devolve into a modern-day Greek tragedy. This was progress.

ooooo

Puck was somewhat used to his life being kind of shitty. Don't get him wrong, he was one hot stud and it came with its perks but fathering a child at the tender age of seventeen was a severe blow right to all the dreams he'd ever had of getting out of this cowtown (oddly enough, he didn't care about that if he got to keep his baby girl). He used to think growing up that it was hard being the only kid on the block with no Christmas tree or no dog. When he ended up having "no dad" added to that list, he realized that bad things would continue to happen to him. Then when he was thirteen and he was forced to stay bedridden for the entire fucking summer when he broke his ankle the first time he ever rode a skateboard, he concluded that he was simply one unlucky bastard that God really hated. Needless to say…goodbye, skateboarding dreams (and cute skater chicks). It came a point in his life when he stopped waiting for his luck to change and just went with the flow not caring (or at least _pretending_ not to) if things got fucked.

Now, as he watched the short middle-aged man cry his fucking _dignity_ away, Puck knew he was lucky, at least in a way. Why? Because he was positive that not even during his darkest, shittiest moments, did he ever look so incredibly pathetic like the little fellow did.

It wasn't like he was trying to ridicule the man (dude was doing that pretty much on his own anyway) but he just could help it if he was a fucking sight as he sobbed desperately, sitting all by himself at one of the center tables. The avid eyes of the staff and the few costumers that had stayed instead of scattering away the moment his hysterical sobs got really loud were trained on him, his face turning red, his mouth open in a weird angle and his nose running badly. At first he thought it was a joke when his manager Lou rushed into the kitchen as he was whipping eggs for the meringues (shut up) and said that one of their regular costumers had walked in, ordered coffee and a bagel and started weeping uncontrollably. But it was all very true, and uncomfortable as fuck.

Lou poked him on the arm and suggestively eyed the mug and the bagel in front of him. "Hell, no," Puck snorted. "I don't wait tables."

He wasn't even supposed to be there. Their arrangement was that he got to the café/bakery really early in the morning every day (like still-fucking-dark-outside early) and baked cupcakes, cookies and other badass baked goods while the head baker Mrs. Milton took care of the big orders before leaving in time to get to school. He wouldn't have come that afternoon if they hadn't had a huge order of strawberry cupcakes to deliver first thing the next morning and Lou hadn't promised him to double pay.

(And yes, if he could find a job that didn't make his junk fall off he would gladly take it. But no one else wanted to hire a Mohawked high school student and he had a baby mama to provide for, so if that meant he was going to bake wearing a fucking flower-patterned apron, then so help him, he'll do it.)

"He's always buying your chocolate chip muffins," Lou wheedled. "A big part of your paycheck comes from his pocket."

"That's low, man," Puck grabbed the mug and the plate. "But if I tell him to fuck off it's your head that's gonna be the one rolling," he warned his manager before stalking to the table.

He deposited the order in front of the crying man, whose head reared up as he thanked Puck through watery eyes.

Now, Puck should've just nodded and walked away or some shit. Instead, he stood there frozen.

He fucking knew this guy.

"You're Rachel Berry's dad," he blurted. "Did something bad happen?" Shit, did he really sound that worried?

Where the fuck did that come from?

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't be surprised. He had spent a god-awful amount of time with her in the last couple of weeks, ever since she became all BFF with Britt and Santana and him and his boys (Shaft and Other Asian) hung out with them more often than not. And truth be told? Rachel wasn't so bad. She didn't have diva fits when they joked about her clothes and her thesaurus vocabulary and instead took it in stride, as it was intended. She even came up with some colorful comebacks about them in return. Also, girl was a fucking card shark. She had played strip poker with him in every party they attended and so far he had been the only guy to get her to lose her top. Though after he saw how all the guys were looking at her, he started losing on purpose, just to make sure she remained covered at all times (what? He could be respectful if he wanted to be!) "The gang", as Brittany was so fond of calling themselves, would even go out for post-party burgers every weekend. He would be just as worried if it were the parent of any of his other friends that was crying so earnestly in front of him

(Vaguely, he wondered if that meant he considered Berry his friend.)

"Well, that would depend in whether you consider having your career and livelihood hanging by a thread a bad thing or not," Hiram Berry said as he dramatically waved a hand over his head.

Puck simply stared at him.

"Yes, something bad happened," the man sighed heavily, adding sugar to his coffee. After taking a sip, he frowned. "How do you know my daughter? School?"

"Yeah," Puck nodded. "I'm Noah Puckerman. We're in Glee together."

"That's wonderful, dear," Hiram sighed again and eyed his bagel forlornly.

Again, Puck should have just walked away and left him there to wallow in his personal misery.

He didn't.

"So what happened?" he asked as he sat down in front of Berry's dad, who seemed shocked but didn't tell him to leave.

"Well," he took a big breath and Puck internally winced. Whenever Berry was about to go on a drawn-out monologue, she took a big breath just like that one. This was going to be hella long. "It all started two months ago, really, when I quit my job at Kerner & Cappie, the county's biggest real estate agency. I was simply not achieving my extraordinary potential to its full extent with them. I was not meant to be sitting behind a desk, meeting clients and receiving fat checks, having little to no time for my true passion of interior design," he sighed again and took a small bite to his bagel. "So, with a very generous severance pay package I landed after implying I was leaving because I felt my sexuality was what kept me from climbing up in such a narrow-minded company, I left and decided to start my own business of renovating homes because, you know, real state plus interior design equals genius," Hiram determined. "My assistant Marty followed me and as equal partners, we started off to navigate the exhilarating waters of the future, with the promise of secure success ahead of us."

"But?" Puck cut in impatiently.

Hiram's face fell and Puck feared he'd start crying again (he looked really close to it this time; Puck was scared he'd launch himself over the table and hug him or some shit). "I used the money and then some from our personal savings to buy these twin duplexes. It was a really good opportunity, you know! The price was extremely affordable and they have a very interesting vintage air that I'm just crazy for. So I figured, we could fix them, completely re-do it, but still maintaining the original design because that's just the kind of architecture you don't want to mess with, and sell them at a profit."

"_But?"_ Puck repeated.

"The houses are practically collapsing over our heads!" he cried, cradling his face with his hands. "It's like every time we try to hang a curtain, the walls start cracking, or the plumbing goes absolutely crazy or the stairs cave in under us! I knew the houses were fixer uppers, but this is just ridiculous! Today, Marty started wall papering the kitchen, the only room we hadn't had a single problem with, and I don't know what happened but the fuses exploded! I don't know what I'm going to do," he said shakily, shaking his head. "I can't go home and admit to my husband that I've failed so admirably when he's been nothing but supportive. Not to mention all the money I lost, which will undoubtedly affect my daughter's future, as we might be forced to use her college fund to cover the debts I've contracted."

"Why don't you just hire a contractor?" Puck frowned, refusing to think of Hiram Berry and his (probably) equally gay assistant trying to fix a house with pink overalls while listening to Celine Dion.

He laughed humorlessly. "I would, but no one wants to work with me."

"You don't need to get a big company. Probably just one guy or two who know what they're doing," Puck shrugged, fishing his buzzing phone from his pocket.

"That sound fine, logical even," Hiram replied with dripping sarcasm. Puck lifted his gaze from his phone (Mike had invited him over to play Xbox and drink beer in his basement that night) and raised one annoyed brow at him. _This_ is what he got after being all sympathetic and hearing the guy out? "But Lima is relatively small and the real estate business is quite competitive. Everybody's booked for the next two months and those who aren't have ridiculous fees! Everybody hates me!" Hiram finished his sentence in a very high pitched note that, to the ears of a trained baritone who knew what a fucking octave was (shut up), was fucking painful.

"Calm the fuck down dude, you're gonna scare off all our costumers."

"I beg your pardon?" Hiram breathed out, acutely offended. "I'm in the middle of a crisis here in case you haven't noticed."

"Well, you ain't gonna fix it sitting here wallowing in your own shit," Puck snapped and leaned over the table. "Get up, go find yourself a fucking contractor and fix that shit hole."

Hiram slapped the table and stood up abruptly (and spilled all the coffee on the table in the process). "You're right! I will fix those houses and I will sell them at a ridiculously high profit or my name isn't Hiram Berry!"

(That right there? That's how Puck is positive craziness runs strong in the Berry family.)

"Great," Puck stood up as well. "That'll be six fifty," he said eyeing the barely touched bagel and spilled coffee.

Hiram followed his gaze and broke down in sobs again. Sighing tiredly (and ignoring the collective grunt of disappointment coming from the staff), he sat down once again and waited (im)patiently for Hiram to start talking again.

"I'm such a disappointment! I might not even be able to afford coffee and bagels soon! How could I have ruined my family's financial security on a whim?" he sobbed. "What's going to happen with my poor Rachel? Her dancing and vocal classes aren't going to be paid with good intentions, you know! And Julliard won't take her without tuition!"

In one swift motion (because if he let his brain stop him then Puck would realize what a potentially bad idea this was) Puck grabbed Hiram by his shirt collar with one hand and slapped him straight across the face with the other. Twice.

"Stop being such a drama queen!" he yelled.

"But no one will work with me!" he cried. "How can I fix this? I can't use a hammer or anything, my nails are too fragile," he whispered lamely.

Puck gave a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "I can take a look at it, if you want. My grandfather used to be in construction. He's retired now, but I used to help him a lot."

"Are you sure?" Hiram reached over and grasped Puck's hand.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I have three batches of cupcakes to finish, but I can be there in an hour."

Hiram immediately rounded the table and hugged Puck tightly.

(Puck should be grossed out. He didn't dig dude-on-dude physical displays of affection.)

(He refused to dwell on how nice it was to be appreciated.)

And that's how Puck ended up spending the rest of his afternoon and part of the evening wearing pink overalls (no kidding) and yelling at Marty not to fucking drill a hole next to the fucking power line.


	5. The night it happens

**Thanks a bunch to my beta, Lori, who is great help altogether! and of course, to all of you who are reading/reviewing/fav-ing/alerting/blah blah. you make my day!**

Chapter five: The night it happens

"Dear, it's not going to work this time. Your father and I made a decision and we're sticking to it," Hiram said sweetly but determinedly to his phone. "No parties. And that's final."

Hearing the murmur of Rachel's plea on the other end of the line, Puck leaned down and inspected the display of screwdriver sets.

"Of course we respect your independence and your right to make your own decisions!" He frowned and shook his head. "But as parents, we're obligated to lay down some rules, dear, you understand, don't you? This pains us as much as it does to you," he assured her sweetly. "Tell dad I won't be able to make it to Aunt Millie's. Yes, Rachel, you have to go," he said more forcefully. "I don't care if she tries to convert us to her cult, she's family and we have to be there for her rebirth ceremony—No, I'm not making up excuses to skip, dear. If I were, I'd bring you along with me. Promise. Alright. Love you. Send my best to Santana and Brittany."

With a long sigh, Hiram made a show of stuffing his cell phone back into his purse (an_ actual_ purse). "I sincerely apologize for interrupting our shopping spree, Noah. Where were we?"

"You were clutching the MegaPro screwdriver," Puck reminded him.

"Oh, where is it? We simply must take it!" he said, overexcited.

"I put it back," Puck told him plainly. "It's shit. We don't need it."

"But Noah, the 15-in-1 multibit screwdriver is power packed and offers a precision 28 tooth ratchet design which makes driving screws in easier!", he recited the description he'd memorized from the box. "And it's so pretty!"

"Screwdrivers don't have to be pretty. They have to be functional," Puck retorted and held up a sensible set of screwdrivers. "Like these."

"Those are boring."

"This conversation is ridiculous." Puck's jaw was tight from the effort not to start pulling his hair and screaming in frustration.

"Fine," Hiram said grudgingly. "We'll take the boring screwdrivers. But I'm buying the staple gun," he warned Puck, his index finger dangerously close to Puck's nose.

Puck shook his head and let it pass. He was learning quickly that he had to pick his battles where Hiram Berry was concerned.

"What was that all about?" he asked, referring to the phone conversation with Rachel (and yes, he was totally distracting Hiram so that he could slip a traditional, "boring" measuring tape in their cart before he got a glimpse of the laser measuring one that cost $90. Seriously? Laser? Had George Lucas invaded the Home Depot or something?).

Hiram sighed and eyed a display of paint brushes. "Rachel's just being a little rebellious lately. We had to ground her after she returned home the morning after a party last weekend, showing the evident signs of a hangover. Don't get me wrong, we're happy she has friends and goes out, but we need to make sure she knows how risky drinking and partying really is."

"So she's not going to the party tonight?" Puck frowned. "That blows."

(It's not like he _wanted_ her there. She was just really handy at poker.)

(He _didn't_.)

"We let her go to her friend's last night. We're hardly depriving her." Hiram grabbed four pairs of ridiculously expensive doorknobs and deposited them in their cart. Puck instantly put them back in the shelf. "We need those!", he cried indignantly.

Puck stared at him like he couldn't believe this shit. "Half the doors are rotten and growing things. Not to mention the_ walls_ are collapsing. We don't need fucking doorknobs right now. "

"You're no fun to shop with," Hiram groused as he stormed off towards the wood section, leaving Puck to follow him with their increasingly overloaded cart.

Working for Hiram Berry was weird as fuck but seeing the guy so helpless and devastated the day before had done weird things for Puck. Finding that the twin duplexes that would bring him and his family to financial hell were actually two shit holes had done little to discourage him. So yeah, he'd said he'd help with the construction stuff. All he asked in return (aside from good pay; Puck was being nice, not stupid) was that they _never _force him to wear the fucking pink overalls again. _Ever_.

(He quit his job at the bakery that very morning. Building two houses practically from scratch with his own hands was definitely a studlier gig, even if he had to work with two absurdly gay dudes.)

"Are you going to this party?" Hiram asked turning back to look at him.

"Totally," Puck said with way more enthusiasm that he actually felt. "Everybody who's anybody is going. Missing Chris Spencer's birthday party is like…social suicide."

It _so_ wasn't. Chris totally sucked at throwing parties. His house didn't even have decent hook up spots, just two bedrooms and a fucking tiny closet on the second floor that smelled. But there was really nothing else to do that weekend, and it was so lame it would probably be fun (yeah, that was some badass logic right there). Plus, the post-party burgers would really make up for it if the night blew, and he bet Santana and Brittany would want Rachel there too. So to maintain balance in their universe (because when Santana was pissed, everyone else should fear for their lives), he needed to at least try to convince Hiram to let Rachel go tonight.

(For completely selfless reasons. See how he was all mature and shit?)

"Really?" Hiram frowned, mildly concerned.

"Hell yeah. It's one of the biggest events of the year," he nodded, lying through his teeth. Then he leaned in closer to Hiram and glanced right and left, as if making sure no one was listening, while trying to look all upset. Hiram was totally buying his fake emotional distress as he held his breath and encouraged Puck to continue. "If I didn't go, I'd get a daily slushie facial till graduation. And that shit fucking hurts," he whispered seriously, resting a hand over his heart. "It hurts in here. _In here_, man."

Puck didn't know why he was so sure his little scam would work. It's not like he had any experience with parents or anything. Hell, if his mother really wanted to keep him from going out there was nothing in the world short of the coming of the Messiah that would talk her out of it. And even then she'd let him out only to go see said Messiah under her wary supervision.

But it did work, because just as Puck was talking to the shop assistant about their drywall needs, Hiram called his husband and quickly convinced him to un-ground Rachel.

She owed him big time. Hell, _the universe _owed him too.

(So maybe if no one else was looking, he wouldn't lose on purpose tonight and get her to lose her fucking top. Who's the man now?)

oooo

Rachel's day started off way better than it ended.

She woke up to the smell of waffles that Brittany's mom and her girlfriends were making in the kitchen, her mood instantly peaking (Berry Rule #45: The best days started with waffles). She was only slightly annoyed she was still technically grounded because the way she looked at it (after several hours of deliberating with San and Britt), all she had to do was convince her Daddy using her remarkable manipulation skills. Britt and San had even given her some pointers: Santana's dad was widowed so she, the only child, had mastered the fine art of it while Brittany had suggestedcopious amounts of alcohol.

Funny thing, though, how Brittany's family worked. She had a younger sister and both of them, with their mother, had invited friends over the night before to celebrate the fact that her dad was out of town. Now, she guessed it wasn't that much of a mystery that the relationship between Brittany and her father (or between him and the rest of his family for that matter) was far from good. Brittany was even perkier and happier than usual that night. Then Britt's mom and her girlfriends had quickly cracked open a bottle of wine at the beginning of the evening and during one of her nightly trips to the bathroom, Rachel had heard sobbing coming from the living room where the women had set camp. When she asked Santana, she was told not to say a word about it to Britt, not when she was so happy. But since San referred to the man as 'bastardo', Rachel was sure it was a conversation she'd be having eventually.

Before heading to dance class, she called her Daddy and tried to get permission to go to the party, a very nicely-worded and only slightly calculating request which was denied. But when she arrived home in time to get ready to go to her Aunt Millie's rebirth ceremony, her Dad gave her a talk about trust and second chances and before she knew it, she wasn't grounded anymore and had free reign to do as she pleased (as long as she kept in mind the terrible consequences her breaking their trust again would entail, like community service, blah blah blah).

When Finn IM'd her ten minutes later asking her if he could drive her to the party, Rachel knew it was a sign that everything was turning out to be spectacular. She had wonderful friends, amazing parents, infinite talent, and her semester-long flirtation with the boy she was almost positive she loved would finally become the deeply committed relationship it was meant to be.

Giddy with the thought of it being a night to remember, Rachel didn't even tell off the brainwashed people who tried to convert her to their asinine cult of sun worshippers at the rebirth ceremony.

Finn was dutiful in picking her up for the party. It was the first one he'd be attending since Sectionals and Rachel was touched he had decided to dive back in the McKinley social scene holding her hand. _Hers_, not some popular bimbo's. At last, after all those weeks, he had finally reached the emotional maturity that would allow him to keep up with loving an admittedly high-maintenance girl such as herself.

She put a lot of effort into looking particularly good that night. She decided against jeans and chose a dark denim skirt and a pink halter top with a black leather belt hanging low around her hips and black platform pumps. Santana had first seen them at the mall last week and determined they were the prettiest 'fuck me' shoes she'd ever seen and that Rachel simply had to get them. She'd said it would drive every guy crazy and that every girl needed a good pair of slutty shoes. Rachel hadn't had the courage to wear them yet and was actually even embarrassed to own them because they were just so…un-Rachel. They were nothing like her Mary Janes or her flats or even her several pairs of sensible heels. They were _dangerous_.

But if there was ever a time to call on their so-called power on the males of the species, it was now. Admittedly, she was only interested in attracting Finn but she figured having a little leverage on him couldn't possibly hurt.

He rang her doorbell exactly on time, said she looked beautiful with that lopsided smile that was just so Finn, evoking that familiar, pleasantly queasy feeling in her stomach, and held her hand as he helped her into his car.

Then he said he wanted to talk, make sure everything was clear between them before they got to the party, and Rachel would have swooned if she wasn't sitting down. Her anxiety was equally expected and uncomfortable because she was certain that Finn was about to tell her he wanted to be with her exclusively and all she could think was how everyone would react when they walked in Chris Spencer's party hand in hand, essentially declaring that they belonged to each other. She got lost in fantasizing about how it would feel when they kissed for the first time as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Maybe if she had been paying more attention to what he was saying instead of imagining what would happen after the conversation was out of the way, Rachel wouldn't have been so confused when the words 'Quinn' and ' in love with her' and 'we're just meant to be friends' came about.

"Wait, what?" Rachel asked.

Finn glanced at her sheepishly as he took a left on the corner of Chris Spencer's street. "I really like you Rachel, you're cool and all, but I don't wanna be your boyfriend. I want Quinn."

That impressive, extensive, eloquent vocabulary Rachel had built over the years abandoned her the moment she processed what Finn was telling her. He didn't want to be with her. _Finn didn't want to be with her._

"I hope we can still be friends," he said warmly as he held her hand again.

Rachel was so absorbed in watching their hands together (but not _really _together) she didn't notice that the car had stopped in Chris' driveway and that Finn was waiting for an answer. She nodded, glancing at him ever so slightly and feeling his hand slip away from her.

"Great!" he sighed, visibly relieved. "Okay then, have fun at the party," he smiled. "Say hi to everyone for me."

She nodded again and wordlessly got out. She hadn't even finished slamming the door before she heard the engine roar and Finn drive away.

In a daze, she went directly to the front door and tossed her coat on the nearest flat surface before stealing a beer from the hands of a passing senior. She was hit on repeatedly, invited to dance several times, handed drink after drink, even invited to join the regulars at the poker table. She declined all of them (except the drinks), instead choosing to stay in the background with a crowd of jocks she didn't really know, who she knew wouldn't care if she had just had her heart broken….who weren't_ Finn_. She didn't try to find San and Britt, because they might take one look at her and guess something had happened. So Rachel kept drinking and laughing at things that weren't remotely funny, feeling a mixture of desire and melancholy every time some guy made an innuendo or just looked at her lasciviously.

But then, after a while (and after her alcohol level had gone considerably up), the differences between that crowd of jocks and Finn became less clear. She wondered if they were even different to begin with, and if so, why had she just realized it now. So, she left them, desperate to find something, someone who didn't remind her of dopey eyes and lopsided smiles and high Bs and love at first sound.

It was a birthday party, so there were quite a few people who didn't go to school with her. People who didn't know who she or Finn were. More importantly, people she could just forget with. She found one of those people by the kitchen door, so she made a beeline for him and immediately started talking. He didn't remind her of Finn at all; in fact, they were complete opposites physically speaking and Rachel was drunk enough not to care about a word that came out of his mouth. He was short, a little on the chubby side, with curly dirty blonde hair and blue eyes framed by glasses. She guessed he wasn't ugly and she guessed she really didn't care if she was the one guiding him to a closet on the second floor.

She also didn't care he was apparently a virgin (a very nervous one) and that she had to take the lead in every possible way. On the other hand, it was far from her first time (what happens with cute guys from Ireland on Julliard's summer art program stays in Julliard's summer art program) so Rachel unleashed her inner freak and quite literally showed him the way.

It wasn't as nice as she remembered it being with Colin (the cute Irish ballet dancer), but she was too drunk to care if this guy had no idea what he was doing. She just wanted to feel good again.

But they were in an awkward position and Rachel had drunk too much and the closet was too small, and before she knew it, it was over all too quickly. Needless to say, she wasn't as satisfied as he was.

And so she left him, inconspicuously making her way back to the party, looking like nothing had happened and stealing yet another bottle of something (she wasn't sure what it was exactly this time). She took it with her and went outside, eventually sitting alone on the front steps and downing the contents of the bottle.

It was hard to believe at this point that her day had started with waffles.

**So.**

**Please do't hate me! Puck not being the dad was planned from the beginning, and I promise the actual Puckelberry goodness starts next chapter. Let me know what you think of this, yuo know reviews are a healthy drug!**


	6. After

Chapter 6: After

"Good morning, San," Rachel greeted cheerfully, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder as she swept mascara on her lashes. "And before you ask, no, I'm not wearing a woodland creature printed sweater. You've made it quite clear that they make me look constipated."

"I'm glad, but that's not why I'm calling." Santana took in a big breath. "You know how I was blowing Lenny Maldonado last night?"

"You mean when you were supposed to be hanging out with Britt and I?"

"Rachel, I could apologize but seriously, karma is already being a super bitch to me right now."

In the time she'd been friends with Santana Lopez, Rachel had learned a lot about her. For instance, she was naturally sarcastic and bluntly honest, with a tendency to point out other people's flaws with unerring precision. In public, she generally acted like an angry bitch, but only when there were people around who she didn't consider friends. She was also so loyal, it was scary. Like, I'll-help-you-chop-the-body-in-little-pieces-and-hide-it loyal. Also, she really, _really_ loved her Cheerios tanning privileges.

But the one thing that shocked Rachel the most when she learned it was how Santana never, ever, exaggerated anything, unlike Britt, whose active imagination allowed her to embellish stories and fabricate entire worlds if she needed to. So if Santana sounded like there was an angry mob with torches and pitchforks on her doorstep craving her blood, then most likely, there _was_ an angry mob on her doorstep craving her blood. Or something equally bad was going on.

"San?" Rachel said warily. "What happened?"

The girl on the other end of the line sighed shakily. "Lenny Maldonado," she started, gulping down. "Doesn't keep his business clean."

Rachel gasped audibly, dropping the mascara. "What?"

"There's a rash on my lips. My mouth looks so gross, Rach," she sobbed. "What if I got the herpes? That shit don't get cured. What am I going to do if I spend the rest of my life looking like a monster? We all know being hot is the only thing I'm good at!"

Rachel wanted to point out that, if she did have an STD, Santana really ought to be more concerned about her health and not just her looks, but given that her friend was having an honest-to-God panic attack, she figured lecturing her wasn't the way to go.

"What did your dad say when he saw you?" she asked instead.

"He didn't. I told him it was my lady time of the month and hid in my bathroom until he left for work."

"San, you need to see a doctor immediately."

"I know, my aunt is waiting for me in the car. Now that's a lecture I can't wait to hear," Rachel could practically see her rolling her eyes. "But listen, I need to ask you a favor."

Rachel was genuinely shocked to hear those words come out from Santana's mouth. San never asked for favors. She was the poster child for self-sufficiency.

"Anything."

Santana sighed, relieved. "I need you to cover for me at practice today. It's Coach Sylvester's first day back and if she's missing a Cheerio, she'll totally go psycho on us."

"Uh…is this a joke?" Rachel asked slowly. "Because if it is, it's not that funny."

"_Please,_ Ray," she said, using her best wheedling tones and her pet name for Rachel. "I already told Sylvester you're covering for me till I get back to school."

"Wait, this would be a more than one day thing?"

"Well, I can't be seen in public until I get this shit off my face, now can I?" San deadpanned. "That is, of course, _if _I'm ever getting rid of it- _I'm coming!_" she shouted at someone away from the phone. "Sorry Ray, my aunt is getting antsy, I really need to get going. So will you cover for me? Please?" she pleaded one last time.

"Fine," Rachel gritted out. "But I expect remuneration. Gift baskets are always well-received."

"You're the best!" Santana said cheerily. Rachel could hear her practically bouncing down the stairs. "Oh, and if Sylvester asks, my grandma Juanita died. Bye!"

The abrupt sound of the dial tone in her ear told Rachel that Santana just hung up on her. With an annoyed huff, she dropped her phone in her bag, quickly applied lip balm to prevent any sign of winter dryness to appear, looked at her reflection one last time and, with an approving nod, exited her bedroom.

ooo

Sue Sylvester was a lot of things – regal, strikingly handsome, stunningly intelligent. Her willpower knew no bounds and God have mercy on you if you dared put your unpedicured feet in her way. She was a warrior, and as one too many fallen Colombian drug lords will tell you, Sue always got what she wanted, no matter how many knees she had to shatter.

She took matters in her own hands and once she set her sight on something, she would get. It. Done. Every single goal Sue had ever set for herself since that first day in kindergarten when she decided she would _own_ the slide and would _end_ whoever dared say otherwise, she had achieved. Her buddies in the Secret Service didn't call her "the harbor miner" for fun.

And if you're not smart enough to follow the intricate, logically elaborate trains of thought that great minds like hers produced, then you might as well retreat to a cozy little cottage in the woods and live like a hermit until the day you die or get eaten by carnivorous wild rabbits, whichever came first. Either way, that would still be the most interesting event in your sad, empty life.

But let it not be said that Sue is full of herself. She just believes that life is not worth killing for if you're a loser and in the grand scheme of things, there is nothing more pathetic than a loser. So when Will Schuester came along, yapping about his little, unimportant glee Club, with the bar of expectations set down low, he created an atmosphere where lameness and loserdom where not only accepted but applauded. Worse, he was dragging poor, unsuspecting children into it. Sue did not see it as a personal threat to her and her fantastically high self-esteem. No, she was deeply concerned for the children of McKinley who would no doubt be harmed by his failed attempt to regain his past glories, glories of a past so obscure, it belonged in a dark, musty basement. Her Cheerios would be unjustly affected by Figgins constantly siphoning money off her budget to maintain that sad excuse of a project alive and she could not allow them become losers to satisfy the childish desires of a twisted she-man with a two-dollar perm.

To the casual observer, her conduct in the past few months would seem rather spiteful and her unfailing determination to bring the Glee club down might make them want to do background checks on all teachers within the school district just in case there was a psychopath in their midst. To them, Sue would kindly state that currently there is no diagnostic criteria to diagnose psychopathy and that while they appear normal, they are, in fact, intra-species predators and as such were remarkably hard to detect. Either way, their children were in danger 24/7 by the mere existence of a society that allowed idiotic people such as themselves to reproduce.

So, as she returned to WMHS, returning it to the rare balance of terror and solemnity it had clearly lacked during her absence, Sue was completely confident that success was in her grasp. She'd had a lot of time to think while she browned up in Boca and then laid next to an unconscious Figgins' before snapping the photograph that would undoubtedly ensure her return to McKinley. The next step in her ever-evolving plan to end Will Schuester and his pathetic club was laid out in front of her like a red carpet of one of the many celebratory events in her honor.

Her mistake was thinking that they wouldn't be able to overcome adversity, that they would simply drop when they found themselves in the heat of competition, with no numbers to present and no director to support them. She had been deadly wrong because the strength in New Direction didn't come from Schuester and his awful haircut.

It came from Rachel Berry.

Now, Sue's goal was to get Schuester fired and his little glee club annihilated. However, she needed a kinder approach. She needed to break them by taking away the one thing that held them together. Once that happened, she was free to divide and conquer. She would give Schuester a false sense of security for now, making him think she'd learned her lesson like a good dog, while in secret, she worked on his destruction. She would have to work alone this time, trusting none but her faithful journal; even her Cheerios would have to believe she was giving the glee club a wide berth, specially Santana Lopez and Brittany Vogel. She would use her wiles and her superior intelligence to manipulate Rachel Berry into joining the dark side, which would no doubt hold more temptation for her than the prospect of being a loser for eternity. Once she had Berry, the glee club would be inevitably and fantastically over.

So when Santana called her that morning and told her she would be absent from school for at least a week because of a death in the family, suggesting Rachel Berry as her replacement, Sue just knew God had laid a hand.

She would succeed.

Ooo

Puck hated winter for two reasons.

1, he had crappy blood circulation so his feet were always cold. And 2, girls were prone to wear jeans rather than skirts. Now this look may be hot on some of them but it definitely presented a logistical limitation to pussy access.

(No, he's not a pig. He has needs. Even the Cheerios wore pants in winter.)

Since he was a fan of being honest with himself, he could admit that this whole pants business actually came in handy sometimes. See, since they didn't have to worry about covering any knee bruises, chicks were totally into giving head, even in the janitor's closets, so he was cool with that. But other that copping a feel, he couldn't do much to, you know, _give back_, unless he took the time to shove their jeans down, take off at least one of their boots and work around the bases. And that shit took a lot of time. He was actually trying to be on time for class these days.

(Plus, Puck would always and forever be a legs man; a hot pair of legs bared in front of him totally got him hard in seconds.)

So when Rachel showed up for a glee meeting in free period that day, Puck just couldn't hide his displeasure.

"Where the fuck is your skirt, Berry?"

Rachel, confused beyond belief (because what was he talking about?), looked down at her jean-clad legs and then up at his hazel eyes. "I'm not wearing one," she frowned.

"I can see that," he deadpanned. "Why?"

"It's cold," she said slowly. "And this conversation is weird."

He ignored her comment and sat beside her.

"Do I really look that bad?" Rachel asked, her voice so small Puck almost didn't hear her, as she fidgeted with a small hole in her jeans.

And fuck, she looked like she was actually worried. Which she shouldn't be, because, you know, she was hot no matter what the fuck she wore. The skinny jeans showcased those legs that went on for miles and hugged her ass in all the right places. Plus her navy blue blouse, with the three little buttons unbuttoned looked great on her (if he turned his head in a certain way, he could totally see bra).

"Berry, I'm going to be straight with you right now. I'm a guy, and your skirts are the size of a large headband." He watched her turn red under his intense gaze. "I fucking love your skirts. You're still hot but I'm not having getting that instant hard-on because of you today."

"O-Okay…thanks?" Rachel stuttered in confusion before turning to face the front as their teammates arrived one by one.

When Finn walked in, casting a sheepish look in Rachel's direction, and she didn't even blink, Puck leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "How are you doing, by the way?"

She jumped in her seat and turned her face to find that Puck was alarmingly close - his eyes boring into hers, his full lips were _right there_ andhis breath warmed her cheeks. Rachel could feel the blood rush to her cheeks and a not-entirely unpleasant heat rushing through her veins, and she shuddered. Her eyes darted to his chest and his arms, and down his abdomen and then-

Oh, God.

(What was wrong with her?)

He was looking at her strangely, and his brow shot up, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his beautiful mouth… oh no, she was staring.

What had he asked her again?

"Huh?" she managed to choke out.

"I said, how are you doing?" he repeated, fighting back the knowing smirk. She had been totally ogling him. _Score!_ "You know, with Finn."

"Finn-? Oh, yes!" she smiled. "I'm quite well actually."

Surprisingly, Rachel didn't get grounded after Chris Spencer's party. When Santana and Brittany found her sitting on the curb in front of the house, completely wasted and crying miserably, they had been equal parts scared for her state of drunkenness, sad for the emotional pain she was undoubtedly feeling, and pissed at Finn for being the one who caused it. They had taken her to Santana's, whose dad was out of town for the weekend. They pushed her into the shower, forced her to eat something, and held her in turns, whispering comforting nonsense in her ears.

The next day, she called her dads and told them what had happened with Finn, leaving out the fact that she'd drank her weight in vodka and slept with a stranger. When they saw her, her eyes swollen from both exhaustion and crying her heart out, depressed and hungover, they attributed it to her altercation with Finn and didn't even ask her if she had broken their only rule of no underage drinking. They just let her lock herself in her room for the rest of the day, offering comforting words and assuring her that one day, a boy would come along that would love her completely.

After a night of medicated sleep, Rachel woke up feeling her mind clear for the first time since she'd watched Finn drive away on Saturday night. She didn't feel like crying anymore and her heart didn't skip a beat when she thought of him. It still hurt because she felt like an idiot for wasting so many months deluding herself. She shouldn't have let herself crush on a boy like Finn, believing he was what she needed to be happy and allowing him to hurt her time after time.

She called Finn after lunch and told him plainly that she had been terribly hurt by his actions on Saturday night and, really, the past semester. She told him that she wished he wouldn't hold her to her promise to remain friends because she just couldn't pretend she was okay with how he'd treated her. Maybe one day she could look at him and not feel so betrayed but right now, that day was still a long way off.

She had originally thought talking to Finn would leave her crying and/or in catatonic state, but Rachel felt surprisingly lighter after she hung up the phone. It was like a vise had been removed from around her heart and she could, for the first time in months, breathe again.

"I think I'm finally over him," she admitted, feeling remarkably accomplished.

Puck smiled at her (an honest-to-God smile, not a smirk. He really should use it more often; he looked incredibly handsome) and patted her thigh lightly. "I'm proud of you, babe."

"Thanks." She ignored the fact that he hadn't removed his hand yet. It felt kind of nice. "How about you and Quinn?"

A frown darkened his features. "She still won't talk to me. Other than what her sister tells me when I drop money off for her, I know nothing about what's going on. Not that I like her or anything, 'cause Quinn and I? So not on, but she shouldn't just cut me off. That's still my kid."

Rachel nodded in understanding (her heartbeat shouldn't have started racing upon hearing him say he wasn't interested in Quinn) and gently laid her hand over his, the same one that was still resting on her thigh. "I'm sure everything will work out for you."

Just then, Brittany bounced into the room and sat on her other side. Rachel turned to greet her seconds before Schue walked in.

"What do you guys say when you answer the phone?" he asked the group as he started the meeting.

"What up?" Mercedes said instantly.

"Who this be?" Artie offered.

"No, she's dead; this is her son."

Everybody turned to look at Kurt as he said that. There was a very uncomfortable silence as Schue regarded the soprano with something akin to pity in his eyes, before he started talking about reinventing the club and themselves and how their assignment for the week was to come up with a song with the word 'hello' in it.

Puck? He totally zoned out and it wasn't his usual glee-shit-induced trip to the spank bank.

He was too busy replaying in his head Rachel's behavior of the past few minutes over and over again, reliving every blush, every quickened breath, the way her eyes filled with heat as she stared at him, and the feeling of his hand sandwiched by her thigh and her small, perfect, fucking cute hand.

He needed to get out of the choir room and he needed to do it _now_.

Ooo

"Have you seen Santana today?" Matt asked as he slumped into a chair between Mike and Brittany at the round table they were occupying. "We had a standing date at the home ec room in second period and she didn't show."

Rachel and Brittany shared a look. They were positive Santana wouldn't want them to know about her…_situation_.

"She caught a bug," Brittany said lightly. "She said she was up sick all night."

"Her aunt took her to the doctor this morning," Rachel provided, taking a sip from her bottle of water. "She's probably not coming back for the rest of the week though," she added for good measure. That way, they wouldn't need to come up with another excuse for the next couple of days.

"That's why Ray is covering her spot on the Cheerios," Brittany smiled suggestively at her friend, who was very much mouthing at her to STOP TALKING. She didn't want the guys making fun of her for becoming, for however short a time, a cheerleader.

Sure enough, three forks stopped in mid-air as Puck, Matt and Mike gaped at Rachel.

"You're gonna be a Cheerio?" Mike said slowly.

Rachel nodded, apprehensive.

"So you'll be at the game, bouncing around in that little outfit, flashing us your spankies with all those splits- _ouch_!" He turned to glare at Puck for smacking him on the head. "Dude, the fuck?"

"I'm doin' you a solid, man," Puck said through clenched jaw. "You know, so you won't jizz in your pants in front of the ladies."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

"Um, Rach?" They were laughing at the utterly ridiculous bitchfest between Puck and Matt when Finn approached them, his shoulders slumped and eyeing Rachel shyly. "Can I talk to you?"

The laughter died just like _that,_ due mostly to the fact that Brittany had shot up from her seat and went to stand directly between Rachel and Finn, poking him mercilessly on the chest. "She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Britt, it's okay." Rachel stood up and led Finn out of earshot as four pairs of eyes followed them closely. "What did you want to talk about Finn? If memory serves, I believe I told you I am not ready to forge a friendship with you."

"Well, that's just it." He grinned slowly. "I've been thinking and I realized how wrong I was to let you go." Her eyes widened like plates as he used her momentary shock against her, closing the distance between them and holding her hand between his. "I want us to be together."

This time, Rachel didn't hesitate. "No."

"But- I thought there was something between us." He frowned, holding her hand tighter. "Something good."

"There was." She hastily removed her hand from his clasp and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "Until you wrecked my heart for the last time. And what about Quinn? Don't you love her?"

"She doesn't want to be with me," he shrugged.

As it had always been between them, this wasn't even about her. It was all about Quinn. Rachel stared at him hard. "I think you should go now, Finn."

"Fine." Even though he was agreeing to do as she said, Rachel could see something entirely different in his eyes. Then he smiled his trademark lopsided smile and said, "But I don't give up that easy. I'm gonna change your mind, you'll see."

As soon as she retook her seat next to Brittany, the blonde hugged her tightly. "I'm proud of you for telling him off."

"How do you know that's what I said?" Rachel asked confused, choosing to ignore the lingering sentiment in Puck's eyes. She hadn't caught that look on him in a while. Not since that one week last fall, actually.

"Oh, I can read lips," Brittany said lightly. "Now, we gotta go. Coach wants to talk to you alone before practice this afternoon."

ooo


	7. Cheerio

Chapter seven: Cheerio

Rachel Berry was not easily intimidated. Honestly, no star worth her salt was, and Rachel was decidedly a star. So what if she was bullied since elementary school because her fellow students didn't believe her outfits were lovely? She still wore her skirts and knee highs with religious fascination. So what if everyone thought she was abnormally intense and full of herself? She didn't tone down her formidable personality just because it made other people uncomfortable and insecure. Was her talent questioned daily by less than qualified people, say Kurt? She was the one whose name would appear preceded by 'Tony Winner' in a few years time, her face plastered on ads covering the walls of New York and eventually, the entire country.

Her biggest tormentors (namely, Puck and Quinn) had given up eventually, realizing her spirit was just too strong to break. (Okay, so maybe that fact that they had joined Glee Club had a lot to do with the mysterious halt of daily slushie facials and similar bullying techniques) Rachel had proven herself and now no one could deny that she was, and had always been, a star.

So _damn _Dave Karofsky if he thought he had any right to toss a slushie in her face and get away with it.

It started like this.

Ooo

"Ladies, I'm sure you're mighty confused as to what I wanted to discuss with you that couldn't wait till practice this afternoon," Sue said, leaning back on her plush high backed desk chair, her finger twined in a very Montgomery Burns fashion.

"Actually, I'm glad you wanted to have a word in private," Rachel cut in with a smile, which wavered as she caught Brittany desperately shaking her head and mouthing 'Don't interrupt her!' next to her. Rachel cast a look to Sue, who merely nodded for her to continue. "This gives me the opportunity of setting a few things straight."

She took a big breath and her eyes became cold. "Santana has asked me to cover for her, due to unfortunate circumstances that will prevent her from returning to school in the immediate future, and while I will happily assist her, that does not mean that I am in any way, shape or form interested in cheerleading. I am a performer and while I don't deny that there is some beauty in your craft, Miss Sylvester, I have my personal reasons to feel apprehensive being under your leadership for however long this arrangement lasts. Your attitude towards New Directions nearly cost us our place at Regionals…and New Directions is my _life_. You deliberately jeopardized my future stardom, and for what? So your budget is untouched and you could get a fog machine? I'm terribly sorry if my words are harsh but I believe my reasons to be outraged by your behavior are genuine, Miss Sylvester, and I would hate for any false pretences to tarnish our short-term association."

Sue eyed her carefully. "Those were a lot of words for such a tiny person. I bet if we can get you to shut your pie hole, you may work just fine at the top of the spine-cracker pyramid we're including in our Nationals routine."

Rachel frowned slightly. "I believe you didn't quite understand what I meant: this arrangement will be temporary-"

"No, Raquel, I'm afraid you're officially on the team." Sue dismissed expertly and held up her clipboard. "See?" she pointed to the last name written: _Rachel Berry_. Next to every name was a number, often repeated, from 0 to 10. "That's my Sue-meter. I use a distinct and scientific criteria based on bone structure and individual reactions to sleep deprivation to rank my Cheerios and their commitment to the squad. See B here?" she pointed to Brittany's name on the middle of the list. "She's an eight minus. If her jaw wasn't so weak and she hadn't shown a tendency to speak about her stuffed animals like they were living things after four straight days of limited sleep, she'd be higher in rank."

"My Teddy Bear used to talk to me, and then my mom took it to church and set it on fire with the priest," Brittany said blankly. "His name was Puffy."

"I only allow the best on my squad," Sue continued impassively. "And if your resolution to triumph over my devious machinations against Schuester has proven anything is that _I_," she pointed to her chest, "must have _you_," she pointed to Rachel, who unconsciously backed up "on my team."

"I appreciate the offer, but I am not interested," Rachel stood up solemnly. "I'll cover Santana's place until she comes back, attend whatever games are required and give my very best to the performances but that is it. I'll see you at practice, Miss Sylvester," and with that, Rachel left the room, Brittany hot on her heels.

As she watched them disappear through the door, Sue couldn't help the smirk from curving her lips. She scrolled down the contact list on her phone before hitting 'Send' when she found out the number she was looking for.

"Karofsky, it has come to my attention that several of my Cheerios have been intimate with you. Now, unless you want me to reveal the atrocious things I have heard them say about you, you will do exactly as I say and tell not a soul about this conversation, understood?"

Rachel Berry would have to get used to Sue always getting what she wanted.

oooo

Britt took her immediately to the Cheerios locker room, which closely resembled a spa – in clear contrast to the girls' locker room Rachel had frequented on occasion in the past – insisting that she shower and let the hot water, vertical massage jets and aromatic herbs soothe her while she gathered an outfit and called in the troops.

Now, by troops, Rachel had been (wrongly so) convinced she meant Kurt and Mercedes. But no, just as she exited the luxurious hydro-massage shower cabin, swimming in the fluffy robe and toweling her hair dry, she was received by three freshman Cheerios. Brittany was in the background, equipped with a blow drier, curling iron and make up utensils while the skinny Cheerios winter tracksuit and white sneakers were hanging from the back of a chair, waiting for her.

Brittany took matters into her own hands, ordering Rachel to sit and let the girls pretty her up while she oversaw their work. Half an hour later, Rachel was exiting the locker room with her arm linked through Britt's and feeling entirely unlike herself.

"They're staring at me," Rachel stage-whispered, failing to hide her panic as she waited for the student body en masse to start laughing and pointing at her.

"That's cuz you're hot." Brittany smiled knowingly. "And you just wait till you see what we're gonna do to Karofsky for slushying you. He's lucky San's not here, she would totally have his ass by now. But don't worry, Coach is screaming bloody murder and the other Cheerios are itching to get at him."

"Why?" Rachel stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall in shock, mindless of the people parting around them to give them space.

"Because you're a Cheerio now, silly," Britt shrugged. "Plus you're my friend. I know people think I'm dumb but they know not to cross me. Even if you weren't covering for San on the team, I'd get them to pirouette Karofsky's ass into the nearest dumpster."

"She totally would, Britt's a little badass," Puck said joining them. "'Sup legs?" He leered at Rachel. "Looking hot," he smirked.

"Thank you," and no, she was definitely_ not_ blushing right now.

"Did you hear?"

"Better, I fucking saw the fucker when he did it," Puck said, scowling darkly. "Then my fist politely made its way into his face."

"You could get suspended for that!" Rachel protested.

"Don't worry, there wasn't no teacher around and Karofsky know better than to rat on me."

"Still, violence is never the answer."

"Whatever, Berry. _You're welcome_." He scowled and walked off.

"Whatever is his problem?" Rachel wondered.

Brittany gave her oblivious friend a long suffering look, shook her head in defeat, and re-linked their arms together. "Let's just go to class."

Ooo

The rest of the week? Strange.

The highlights were definitely Finn singing 'Hello, I Love You' to her as part of their glee assignment, following her around and insisting that he wanted to be with her, persevering to the point of blatantly following her home in his car and staying parked in the driveway for a good 30 minutes until her Daddy came home from work and kindly asked him to move. Rachel wasn't entirely sure, but she believed that, in his effort to show her just how serious he is about her, Finn might have crossed the line between normal behavior and stalking…more than once. And then, singing 'Hello, Goodbye', all his meaningful and suggestive staring just got to be too much for her to take and Rachel had to storm off before he opened his mouth and confess his feelings for her again.

(There was this one moment in the dressing room, once the girls joined her to change out of their costumes, when Quinn approached her.

"So you and Finn…?" the blonde asked with an amused little smile tugging the corners of her lips.

"Sooo not on," Rachel breathed tiredly.

Quinn chuckled. "He can be intense when he wants to be. Hey," she said as she slipped off her black flats. "Are you and the girls doing something this weekend?"

"Nothing planned," Rachel said carefully. "But we could come up with something fun. Do you want to join us?" she offered wholeheartedly. _Please say yes._

"Sure whatever, I'll give Brittany a call," and with a last shy smile, Quinn disappeared into the bathroom.)

Then there was the thing with being a Cheerio, however long it might last. Now, Rachel wasn't going to believe the girls on the squad automatically liked her when just a week ago they barely acknowledged her existence but she had to admit they were nicer than she expected. One by one, with Brittany standing stern in front of them holding out her phone so they could hear Santana's unimaginably scary threats over speakerphone, they apologized for every single time they tormented Rachel in the past and solemnly sworn that, no matter how long she remained in the squad, they would never again be mean to her. Rachel had been raised to give people a second chance, so in return, she offered to arrange a weekly tutoring meeting with the Cheerios to help them with some of the homework they found most difficult.

There was an aspect she hadn't considered when she joined the squad. No, it wasn't the unexpected male attention that now seemed to turn her cheeks permanently red from the insane amount of propositions and innuendos, often so dirty she dared not to repeat them. It wasn't even the little entourage of freshman girls who had taken to wearing sweater vests, plaid skirts and knee socks to school and following her around, taking every and any opportunity they got to let her know they just _loved_ her. What Rachel hadn't been counting on was Mr. Schuester reaction.

He asked her to join him in his office before Glee the day after she started wearing the mandatory Cheerios uniform, and told her in no plain terms that she couldn't trust Coach Sylvester not even for one minute. He said that she only wanted her on the squad as a way to destroy the Glee Club, whatever was she had planned, and that Rachel should watch her back and quit immediately, hence protecting New Directions interests and, by extension, her own. Rachel was perfectly aware of Sylvester's sins and didn't, in fact, trust her, but to be told that no one other than Mr. Schue could appreciate her talent and that she couldn't do something simply because it was admittedly out of character was not something Rachel enjoyed hearing. Her commitment to Glee should not be doubted and she wasn't stupid. She knew what Sylvester was like.

Which brought her to yet another dilemma of her absurdly colorful week.

Sue. Sylvester.

The woman was insane. Rachel was positive that, should she be examined by a professional psychologist, she would not be allowed outside the walls of a mental institution. She was borderline psychotic and half the time, Rachel wasn't sure the things that came out of her mouth were even real. Every 3 words out of 10 were offensive and Rachel was surprised her Cheerios hadn't mutinied already considering the amount of psychological violence that went on through practice. And the woman had no boundaries what-so-ever. Rachel was a front row witness to how she cut off a guy's (admittedly horrendous) ponytail right in the middle of the hallway, merely because she was confused by his she-male hairstyle. As if that hadn't been offensive enough (because really, in this modern times, one should be more receptive and tolerating of other people's sexual orientations), Coach S just went ahead and threw in a positively un-PC reference, implying that she'd send the aforementioned chopped off hair to the Katrina victims so they could cover the holes in their trailers with it.

But she was also driven and a perfectionist, which were things Rachel could relate to. She could admit that working in an environment so competitive and demanding was both challenging and thrilling, and she quickly learned to understand when Sylvester was berating them because they were terrible and when she was using insults to encouraging them to set the bar higher.

So she was torn because, while she knew Sue Sylvester wanted the glee club to be vanish from the face of the Earth, Rachel also found herself enjoying being a Cheerio and being part of another group of incredibly talented performers. The routines were intricate, unlike anything they'd ever do in glee, and even more so than anything Dakota Stanley could choreograph for Vocal Adrenaline. And once you learned not to get riled up from anything she said, one would almost find Sue Sylvester funny. Like for instance, Rachel had been incredibly annoyed when the woman would refer to her by whatever name that started with the letter R and happen to cross her mind at the moment. In the past week, Rachel had been christened Raquel, Roberta, Raylene, Reba and Rhonda, anything and everything except her own name; at one point, she came to take it as a form of endearment. It helped that Sylvester occasionally called Brittany 'B', and her friend explained her that 'B' stood for 'Brainiac'. Rachel figured that was just how Sue Sylvester dealt with people.

"Don't wear panties under your spankies tonight for the game," Santana advised her while they were having lunch at her place on Friday. With a mouthful of lettuce and chicken, Brittany nodded fervently. "You don't want everyone to notice the lines and instantly know what you're wearing or getting a totally uncomfortable wedgie during one of the flips."

Rachel snickered at the face of horror Santana bore at the moment, as if she were remembering a personal experience. "I've had my own share of uncomfortable situations involving performing costumes and undergarments, so I already decided against them for tonight, but thanks for the advice."

"Man, I wish I could be there," Santana sighed, attacking her salad with her fork. "Seeing Rachel Berry in a Cheerios outfit is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"No worries, Puck's surely going to take a lot of pictures," Brittany assured her. "Though I think he's gonna want to hold onto them for uh, personal reasons." Both girls chuckled watching Rachel turn red in front of them.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're hot and Puck's a sex god. It's only a matter of time until you get captured in his studliness tractor beam and find yourself wanting a ride with Puckasaurus," Santana waggled her arched brows suggestively. "And trust me, that's a ride you do not want to miss."

Turns out? Santana didn't catch herpes. After the doctor examined her, she determined Santana was most likely allergic to the soap Lenny Maldonado used, the detergent with which his underwear had been washed, whatever product he used on himself during his..ahem, 'quality alone time', or a combination of all of them. The rash around her mouth had faded almost completely and Santana would be back at school on Monday. And while her dad was immensely glad his little girl hadn't caught an STD, he was still quite hell bent on grounding his daughter for her 'extracurricular' activities. That meant no parties and a considerably earlier curfew from now on, as well as a fortnight of meetings at the Church with a group of young adults who preached the benefits of safer sex (you know, since the Celibacy Club was such an obvious sham).

"If you want him so much, why don't you just go after him then?" Rachel asked in an uncharacteristically harsh tone.

San and Britt shared a glance of amusement. "Hun, I don't want Puck," Santana assured her with a smile. "We had our fun and we're good friends but that's it."

(Rachel should not be happy to hear that.)

Ooo

At the game, Rachel was somewhat surprised that the team was actually good. She didn't know much about basketball but she figured that if 'her guys' got the ball through the loop more times than the other team, then that was a good thing. She found herself cheering for them and actually meaning it. When they won, she bounced with the rest of the Cheerios into the court and hugged Matt, Mike and Puck tightly, congratulating them from the bottom of her heart.

(If she lingered a little longer in Puck's arms, it was only because _he _wouldn't let her go.)

The other team's cheerleaders got to entertain the crowd during half time, so the Cheerios lined up in the middle of the court to close the night's festivities with their routine. To say their public was absolutely crazy for them would be a understatement. They danced wonderfully and the pyramid was executed flawlessly. Rachel had such a performance high that she didn't even mind the catcalls that followed every sway of her Cheerios skirt.

"Well done, Ramona," Sue said as she passed by her while Rachel slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "I expect you reconsider your determination not to be part of something of this magnitude. No one would _dare _toss a cold drink in your face and you could rule this school. Trust me, kid," she bobbed her head to the side. "Everybody loves a winner…and I do everything in my power to make sure my Cheerios win."

Rachel recognized a dramatic exit when she saw it and she had to admit, Sylvester might be crazy, but she was a crazy person with a point.

She walked to the parking lot in the company of Christy, one of her fellow Cheerios who had benefited from Rachel's history tutorial 2 days ago, telling her all about how the pointers Rachel had given her helped her ace the pop quiz she took today. Christy was so grateful, she kept saying that she hoped Rachel stayed on the team for good. Rachel was so touched by the girl's sincerity that she walked straight into a brick wall.

Well, not _really_ a brick wall. Just an finely toned chest and lovely muscled arms.

"Easy, killer," Puck said, steadying her by circling her waist with an arm.

"P-Puck hi," Rachel stuttered, because of course such an impact would knock the breath out of her (he did_ not_ make her nervous. _Shut up_).

Before he could say anything (and really, his shit-eating grin was just about all she could take right now), Matt's truck rolled to a stop in front of them and honked.

"Guys, I'm taking these two to the party," he nodded to the back seat where Britt and Mike were busy sucking face. "I don't want them getting horizontal in my car. I'll see you guys there?"

"Sure man, no problem." Puck waved, his arm still firmly around Rachel's waist as she said good-bye to Christy and told her she'd see her later. "So Berry," he smirked. "Wanna ride?"

She bit the inside of her cheek to fight back the smile (and when did she start to find his innuendo funny?). "I have my car with me," she said apologetically.

"That's cool, I'll walk you." He shrugged and dropped his arm from around her, but remained close enough to feel the warmth she radiated (What? It was _cold)_. "You were good tonight," Puck said, looking straight ahead. "And your ass looks phenomenal in that skirt."

He watched her blush profusely and felt his chest swell with pride. It was just so much fun pushing her buttons.

"Thank you." Rachel bobbed her head down coyly. "You were good yourself. It was a very enjoyable game."

"Yeah, I could totally see you ogling my guns from the side of the court."

"I was not!"

"Rachel, it's natural." He purposely lowered his timbre, making his voice sound all throaty and sultry, and he stopped walking to pull her closer to him. Rachel's eyes were wide and staring into his very soul as she she licked her lips and her breath quickened.

Just as he was leaning down, a car alarm went off not far from them, jerking her away from him. Avoiding his eyes, Rachel protectively crossed her arms over her chest and looked away trying to spot her car.

(She didn't even deny the fact that Santana's words earlier that day were ringing in her head right now. _It's only a matter of time._ Was it really inevitable? Was that what Puck thought, that sooner or later she would give in to his advances? And what would happen after that? Would they go back to being friends? Would he want more or… not? Did Rachel want more?)

"Oh, for the love of God!" she practically screamed once she spotted her car.

Puck, who up until then had been very much occupied trying to decipher the thoughts that were surely running rampant in Rachel's crazy mind, turned around with a frown to see what had made her instantly irritated.

Leaning on the driver's side of Rachel's car and obviously waiting for her, was Finn. He was holding the game ball and luckily enough, was not looking in their direction as he continued looking off into the distance, possibly searching for his lady love.

"I cannot believe him," she huffed, her hands fisting. "His behavior is just outrageous."

She looked _so hot_ when she was mad.

"Maybe he just thinks you're playing hard to get," Puck said, his face completely unreadable.

Her big chocolate eyes darted up to his and he saw hurt mixed with anger. "I'm not," Rachel stated. "I don't want Finn anymore," she clarified.

(And that in itself was a very frightening thought, very much like the unexpected knot in her stomach.)

Puck at least hoped he didn't look as relieved as he felt. "C'mon," he slung his arm around her small frame and led her away from Finn and over to his truck. "I'll drive you."

"I can't leave my car here," Rachel protested, but offered no resistance whatsoever as she walked with him, relishing in the heat of his body pressed to her side.

"He'll be gone in a couple of hours at most," Puck shrugged carelessly. "I'll give you a ride to pick it up after the party."

She smiled and thanked him after he opened the door to the passenger seat for her. This was turning out to be a very interesting night.

(If only Rachel knew what lay ahead.)

**Thank you for the amazing reviews! and a cyber-hug to my beta Lori for doing such a wonderful job!**

**So, review?**


	8. Ignored

Chapter eight: Ignored

"Sloppy freak show babies! Somewhere in the English countryside in a stately manor home, Madonna is weeping!" With an ugly upturn to her lips, Sue Sylvester eyed her squad with something akin to revulsion and a mild case of constipation. "Get out of my sight," she spat into her megaphone, watching with inappropriate enthusiasm how the Cheerios scrambled out of the gym, mindful of not crossing her any further this morning.

With satisfaction seeping through her, she breathed in deeply, marveling on the smell of utter and irrational terror that the children left in their wake. Then and only then, she turned around and faced the unwanted audience that had noticeably sneaked in her private practice and beheld the art her Cheerios had just performed.

"Hey there Renee, I thought I smelled the faint aroma of delusions of grandeur. I thought for one second that Cesar Millan had discovered the underground dog-human dating service I run and was interested in my services," she cocked her head to the side, mildly amused. "Now I know it's just you."

With a shaky breath, Rachel left her seat on the bleachers and approached Sylvester, a bright red and black duffle bag slung over her shoulders. She'd expected the brass attitude. She'd even expected the completely insane things spewing from her mouth. How else would Sylvester react when Monday came and Rachel wasn't present, prompt and on time at the sunrise Cheerios practice?

It's not like Rachel had promised she'd still be a part of the Cheerios after Santana had effectively returned, which happened that very morning. From the beginning she had been very clear that her association with the squad and, by extension, with Sue Sylvester was temporary and barely tolerated, at best. If her resolution to dislodge herself from the Cheerios had wavered ever so slightly after the game on Friday night due to Sylvester's tempting promises of winning, this last weekend she'd managed to convince herself cheerleading wasn't quite her thing. That she'd better stick to her original plan.

Except, this morning, things changed. She just couldn't get up from bed. She was _so tired_. She couldn't even muster the strength to climb on her elliptical, much less actually get ready for the Cheerios early practice had she not previously decided against going. As it was, she slept in that morning, getting up only when her indigestion forced her to rush down the hall to the bathroom to dry heave until tears came to her eyes.

She didn't understand it. She went to the party Friday night alright (and she still refused to think of the _things_ that…went down then) but she did not have a single drop of alcohol to drink (which in reality, she regretted; if she had been at least a _little_ drunk, she would be able to blame _those things_ on the alcohol). Even though she felt terrible on Saturday, what with the tremendous, potentially infinite knot of confusion, embarrassment and anxiety in her stomach that made her physically sick twice, she had a lovely time at the salon with Santana, Brittany and Quinn, enjoying mani/pedis and a much needed massage. Then on Sunday, she was able to get a lot of rest, vegging out in front of the TV with a pile of her favorite musicals on DVD. So while Rachel was still currently upset over what happened on Friday, that just wasn't an excuse for the exhaustion she felt right now. And her anxiety was making her puke more than she ever had in her entire life and she wanted nothing more than stay home for the rest of the day (or possibly the school year), sleep her exhaustion out and attempt to perform a brainwashing on herself, effectively erasing Friday night from her mind.

That was just unacceptable.

She was supposed to be strong. She could not let mere sleepiness and one obnoxiously charming Mohawked boy deter her from what really mattered.

Glee, Regionals, homework, stardom, winning. These were the things that mattered to Rachel Berry and she would not waste another second of her life to see them through. The absolutely mind-blowing routine she just watched the Cheerios perform was so good she just needed to be a part of it. And she knew firsthand that as far as motivational (albeit completely terrifying) pep talks went, Sylvester was the best. If there was one good thing to say about the woman was that she managed to find the competitive animal within her students and unleash it. Rachel needed Sue Sylvester to berate her endlessly until she recovered her somehow lost willpower.

But she wasn't going to tell her _that_.

"Miss Sylvester, I'm going to say something you probably don't hear people often say to you," Rachel started, her shoulders squared and her jaw firmly set. "You are selfish and rude. Your sole purpose in life is to bring fear upon people you consider inferior and use your talent and success to belittle others. Everybody hates you because you put yourself up on a lofty pedestal and refuse to treat people as equals. They are terrified of you because rumor has it, you've been trained to snap a head off its body using only minimal effort and have a secret chamber under your condo where you keep an armory. I'm reasonably confident you take pleasure in knowing this and, what's more, nurture the ridiculous stories about yourself that are running the Lima gossip mill. You _like_ knowing they hate you because you know as well as I do that they wish they _were_ you. But none of this matters to me." With her brown eyes shimmering with a passion Rachel rarely let take over her, she smirked wickedly. "You're a horrible human being, but I find myself morbidly fascinated by your person, and I would be honored to take this routine with you to Nationals and win."

"That's an incredibly long, boring and horribly presumptuous speech coming from someone who showed up unfashionably late to practice, _not_ wearing the uniform."

"You want me on the team," Rachel countered confidently. "You said so Friday night."

"I did, yet I now question your devotion."

Rachel glanced around to make sure they were absolutely alone and leaned closer to Sue. "Short of nudity, exploitation of animals and compromising Glee Club, my devotion can be quite limitless. I want everything too much and nothing will hinder me from my goals. I had Sandy Ryerson fired, you know."

After a long moment during which she contemplated the girl before her and the sheer intensity in her stance, Sue bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. "It's been the biggest dream of my career to pay homage to Madonna, the woman most responsible for my take-no-prisoners attitude and my subconscious tendency to always be desperately looking for someone named Susan. You ruin this for me, and I will destroy you." Then she smirked. "Go put on your uniform. And I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Ooo

_She looks like the real thing  
She tastes like the real thing  
My fake plastic love  
But I can't help the feeling  
I could blow through the ceiling  
If I just turn and run  
And it wears me out, it wears me out  
_

"Dare I question the sentiment behind your choice of lyrics this afternoon? Or would you find that terribly inappropriate on my part given our employer-employee association?"

Glancing up from the window frame upon which he'd been focusing his attention, paint brush in hand, Puck stared down at Hiram Berry as he leant on the worktable looking at him with mild interest.

"It's no big deal if you don't want to talk about it," Hiram shrugged carelessly, inspecting his fingernails to avoid the intent gaze of boy. "It's just that your song choices generally run down the lines of offensive or satanic-"

"The fuck?"

"Metallica? Nine Inch Nails? _Hello_?"

"Whatever, man. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Puck shook his head and hid his crooked smile at Hiram's absolutely outraged expression, swiping one last brush of white pain on the window frame.

"I remember being a confused teen myself, you know. The sex, the drugs, the milkshakes," Hiram went on offhandedly, looking up at the freshly painted ceiling as Puck shot him a disbelieving look while he cleaned off his hands and put the lid on the paint can. "Don't give me that look. It was the eighties. Anyway, I had my fair share of high school drama. Mind you, I never got a girl pregnant, but I did pay Sally Grayson to be my beard. Lovely girl, Sally. Leroy and I would've ask her to be Rachel's biological mother if she wasn't so unquestionably untalented and had a bad case of acne when she was a teenager."

"Hiram, if there's a point? _Get there_."

He smiled. "I just want to let you know that I'm here for you, should you seek the advice of a grownup male parental figure."

If this were any other guy, Puck would've scowled openly, cursed wildly and made several offensive remarks expertly aimed at the guy's insecurities – basic Puckerman defense strategy. But this was Hiram Berry and, call him crazy, but Puck actually liked the guy. He was annoying as hell but strangely, it didn't irritate Puck as much as it probably should have. More than once, he found himself fighting back an honest-to-God smile at Hiram's flamboyant attitude towards life plus he actually enjoyed working with him. And sometimes, they, like, talked about stuff that was bothering Puck (Quinn and the baby, mainly) and Hiram often came back with some pretty insightful shit that actually helped.

But it's not like he could tell him what was wrong now. As much as Puck was sure Hiram liked him, he had the feeling he wouldn't exactly be thrilled to know he'd almost fucked his daughter in a party and hadn't talked to her since. And it wasn't even his fucking fault.

"It's nothing. Just," - on the other hand, Hiram had a pretty good grasp on how the female mind worked - "There's this girl who's been avoiding me and it sucks. Plus, Mr. Schue is making us sing Madonna songs and he keeps implying I, like, use girls and don't give a damn and that's pretty douchetastic of him."

"That doesn't sound right," he frowned. "Are you sure that's what he meant?"

"He said he thought we weren't treating girls right. Then he was staring right at me when he said we were being misogynistic," he shrugged. "I didn't understand what that meant at the time, but then I Googled it. That's shit's not kosher."

"Indeed, it isn't." His brow still furrowed, Hiram was jolted out of his thoughts when his phone starting singing. "Excuse me for a moment. Hello, darling, how was your day? I—well, actually—you can't make it? But Leroy, it was your turn," he rolled his eyes, listening to his husband. "No, I don't understand. I'm working too, I can't make it either," he said as he smoothed a hand over the worktable. Then he gasped audibly. "How can you say that? My job is just as important and as demanding as yours, Leroy! You take that back!"

With every intention to stay the fuck away from that particular end of the spouses' spat, Puck headed to the kitchen to get a drink and give Hiram more privacy to bitch on his husband.

The duplexes were shaping out to look pretty damn good, if he said so himself. Hiram had insisted on focusing on the ground level of both houses first, before they started on the first floor, since that part of the houses needed more work. It wasn't exactly big, just a living room with adjoining dining room and kitchen, shaped like a big L so the kitchen was in the back of the house, blocked from view by the staircase. Also, Puck had come up with a fucking awesome drywall archway and two narrow built-in bookcases of sorts on each side of it to separate the living room from the dining room. It gave a interesting sense of division the original design of the houses had overlooked.

Plus, it was bitchin'. He, like, fucking made it with his bare hands.

He couldn't understand how the previous owners of the duplexes had been so careless with their property. When Puck had first set foot in the place, it really looked like the duplexes been abandoned for ages, with all sorts of junk piled in the corners, walls roughly stripped of wallpaper, water stains on the ceilings, carpets stained with who-knows-what and woodwork buried under layers of ugly ass green paint. It was no wonder Hiram had bought them at nearly half their true value.

Now, with the new carpeting, polished hardwood floors, bitchin' archways and awesome crown molding (he's starting to think he's been spending too much time with these guys) plus a kitchen redone from scratch (the only thing they didn't change in the kitchen was the original red tile floor, because Hiram and Marty deemed it "fantastic" and "vintage" and…shit, he _was_ spending too much time with them), Puck could practically see the lines and lines of people filing in when Hiram and Marty held their open house.

(Of course, since he technically didn't have a construction license, it would have to remain strictly secret that he'd been the one to fix the duplexes. Meaning all bragging rights to his badass construction skills were out the window. Fuck his life.)

The second floor was another deal. As he took a long swig of his Coke, Puck made a mental list of all the renovation that part of the houses needed. Hiram didn't want anything too outrageous for the second floor since there was just a master bedroom with a bath, a smaller bedroom and bathroom down the hall, and a linen closet/laundry room. They were going for pristine white walls and herringbone bamboo parquet flooring; but the walls were nearly cracking under the weight of the roof, so they had to proceed carefully in fixing the roof and redoing the ceiling, before replacing every single wall one at a time with the drywell panels they'd already ordered from Home Depot. Then they had to lay down the parquet, replace the doors, remodel the bathrooms and installing the electrical wiring. It was going to take longer, probably 10 to 12 weeks, and Puck was definitely going to need more help at one point.

Just then, Hiram stomped into the kitchen, his face puckered up and his cheeks red.

"My husband is impossible," he huffed. "He's going to have drinks with some clients and he's going to leave poor Rachel stranded. He just assumes I can pick her up just because I don't have a boss breathing down my neck. He doesn't respect the fact that I'm self-employed."

Puck had met Leroy Berry a couple of times, the first back when he dated Rachel for like two seconds and the dude had given him the "you hurt her, I'll kill you" talk. Given that Puck knew firsthand how difficult Hiram could be, he didn't believe the accusation was correct. If Leroy didn't respect his husband, he would have stopped him before the guy bought the shit-dump duplexes.

"And I really can't pick her up either because Home Depot called today and they're delivering the drywall within the hour," he sighed. "I want to be here to supervise, since Marty is still indisposed."

Puck chuckled. Hiram and Marty had been playing with the nail gun the other day, and they ended up having to rush Marty to the ER. After the doctors removed the two nails right smack dab in his palm, he was told to stay the hell away from power tools and get a few day's rest.

"I guess I'll call Home Depot and ask them to swing by tomorrow." Hiram frowned. "Do you know if they do deliveries on Sundays?"

Puck smirked darkly. Without knowing it, Hiram was creating the perfect opportunity for him to make his daughter stop avoiding him.

_Fucking A._

ooooo

The night of the party, their flirtation escalated from his knuckles fleetingly brushing her bare thigh while he changed gears on his truck, to her deliberately running a hand up and down his bicep, telling him just how lovely she thought his arms were, to finally attacking each other's mouths while slow dancing, her hands low in his back, under his shirt and his hand grazing her hip, his thumb running circles under the waistband of her skirt.

Then one of them, she wasn't sure who, had suggested they find a quiet place to "talk" and they rushed up the staircase, hands linked.

They made out, and Puck went down on her. She was so close to coming, Rachel could only nod and moan in agreement when he told her he wanted her, right now. He kissed her passionately, his fingers still inside her, and he pushed off her for just a moment to get a condom from his wallet.

That's all it took for Rachel to freak out and run away from him, clattering out of the room and downstairs, ignoring Puck's baffled face and the curse escaping his lips as she practically slammed the door behind her. She found Santana and begged for a ride to the school parking lot to collect her own car and go home, promising her friend she'd explain her disheveled state on the drive over.

Rachel had been avoiding Noah ever since, despite his persistence and now, a little more than a week later, she was forced to catch a ride home with him because her car was at Burt Hummel's and both her parents were too busy to pick her up from dance class.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. Life was just so unfair sometimes.

"So you're not gonna talk to me ever again?" Puck broke the ice pulling out of the dance studio's lot. She said nothing, her gaze glued to the windshield. "Do I at least get to know why the fuck I'm getting the silent treatment?" he snorted.

Still nothing.

"Fuck this," he gritted out. "It's not like I fucking took advantage of you or anything, but whatever, if you want to act like I did and it's all my fault then fine. I'm done chasing after you when you clearly don't give a shit."

"I never said you took advantage of me!" Rachel spat, offended.

Hitting the breaks on the next red light, Puck turned to glare at her. "I know Schue walked in on you and the glee girls talking and now all of the sudden he's telling me I don't treat girls right. And how do you think it looked that night when everybody saw us go upstairs together and then you stormed back all jittery and wanted to get the fuck away as soon as possible? And then you start to avoid me like I have the fucking plague!"

She gaped, but words failed her. Yes, she'd been avoiding him quite openly and Mr. Schue had overheard her and the other glee girls the other day when she gave them the Cliff's Notes version of what had happened Friday night. He'd assumed Puck had done something wrong and Rachel had been too embarrassed to correct him. And that night…

"I'm sorry," she said at last, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear and she knew it. He wanted an explanation.

Rachel couldn't give him one, because honestly, she didn't know why she did what she did.

Puck didn't look at her the rest of the drive, didn't even glance at her sideways. When he dropped her off at her house, he peeled off even before the car door was securely closed, leaving Rachel watching him from the sidewalk.

Ooo

Santana is not entirely sure how exactly she ended up doing the horizontal tango with Finn.

It was Friday and she was rummaging through Rachel's locker (what? She was out of mascara and Rachel didn't mind) when her eyes came across a neatly folded note with Rachel's name on it. It was clear she hadn't read it yet, because there was magic tape securing it and covering nearly the whole thing.

Mindless of her friend's possible snit upon finding out that Santana was violating her correspondence or whatever, she removed the tape and unfolded the note, revealing to be a lengthy, full-page letter, written in messy, curly handwriting.

It was Finn's.

Long story short, he wanted Rachel and wasn't gonna stop until he got her. Santana couldn't believe it. After months of being his doormat, Rachel had finally grown some balls and started falling out of love with Finn and now the guy just wouldn't let her. And he actually didn't know or care how much he'd hurt her in the past and how Rachel wasn't interested in him anymore.

So what did Santana do? Well, what any good friend do, of course. After school, she drove to Finn's house and confronted him about the letter. Things were said, doors were slammed, she smacked Finn across the head, Mrs. Hudson's cat then attacked Santana and Finn got really pissed. But at last she understood.

He was confused, and _so lonely_. He missed his ex-girlfriend and his best friend, but he wanted to hate them. He was hurt and humiliated and he just couldn't bear the fact that he actually was as dumb as he'd been told he was his entire life. He felt used, and nothing he did could make things better. He wanted Rachel to want him.

He needed somebody to want him.

So, she comforted him, the only way she knew how. She expected him to be terrible, since he was a virgin, but she was (happily) surprised when she was proved wrong. And she was happy, because even though she had taken Quinn's side from the beginning and during the baby daddy drama, she never wished for him to be hurt. And if sleeping with her helped him in any way, then so be it. It's not like she was in love with him or anything.

Well, okay, she can't deny she has a small, tiny, itsy-bitsy thing for him. But come on, every girl in school did, not just Quinn and Rachel. She was curious. She might even say she (physically) wanted him.

And then, while they were lying on his bed afterwards, he opened his mouth (the same mouth he'd used to kiss her so sweetly) and ruined everything.

"This was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I don't feel anything."

If you asked her if she cared, she'd laugh, flip her hair and tell you _of course not_.

The tears that dried on her cheeks as she cried herself to sleep that night would tell you she'd lied.

**Thanks to my Beta Lori! you rock girl!**

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	9. Avoided

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews and alerts! And thanks to Lori for being a world class beta!**

ooo

Chapter nine: Avoided

Avoiding Puck, when Rachel would rather have just lay down somewhere and died instead of facing the utter humiliation and embarrassment of owning up to her slightly monumental 'oops-sorry-I-walked-out-on-you-after-making-it-abundantly-clear-that-I-was-going-to-put-out', was fairly easy. All she had to do, really, was be virtually inaccessible and frequently busy someplace else, always deep in conversation with her friends, never go to the places she knew the object of her affe—avoidance also went to, and when all else failed (e.g. Glee and the few classes they had together) – ignore him and pretend there was a Puck-shaped hole in the air.

She spent a whole week perfecting the art of 'Puck? Who's Puck?', starting from the night she stormed out of the party till the afternoon he drove her home from her dance class. It wasn't the perfect solution but she'd somehow come to believe that the root of the problem would just disappear, go away, and they'd forget about it. She really, really just wanted to forget about it. Maybe, if she didn't think about that night and pretended it hadn't happened, she'd stop thinking about what it had meant (what _she_ wanted it to mean) as well as the repercussions of her actions and why (oh why?) she'd left. And maybe Puck would forget about it too and things would go back to normal.

He didn't. He chased after her (vigorously, she might add; his stamina was quite impressive and so was his resolve) to the point where ignoring her tumultuous feelings just wasn't possible and it took every fiber in her not to give up and just bawl like a baby in his presence. She wasn't even sure why she cried so much that week. She knew he was angry at her and wanted an explanation, which she would gladly give him if she even knew why on Earth she'd walked out when she wanted him so much. But she also knew that there was nothing between them other than a shaky friendship (they were friends, weren't they?) and that he wasn't interested in her in the way she wanted him to be. But it came down to this - the night they almost had sex was real. They both knew it. Now, she had to face the consequences of her actions like the mature, collected ingénue that she was.

Of course, Rachel only reached this conclusion after she realized that by ignoring and avoiding him, she'd hurt him on some level. Maybe his ego was bruised or his manhood, or maybe he just didn't like being left to 'take care' of his own problem after reaching third base. She sincerely doubted she'd hurt _his feelings_. Noah Puckerman didn't do feelings, of that she was sure.

But she had to make things right and having Puck embraced her ignore-and-avoid MO, Rachel was left to do the chasing. Needless to say, she was failing admirably.

First off, he stopped having lunch with her. Granted, during the week she'd been avoiding him, she'd adopted a similar method, taking her lunch to the choir room or the auditorium, but she wasn't so blunt and obvious about it! She did show up in the cafeteria every day to say hello to the guys as they generally ate lunch with her, Santana and Brittany. She'd show, strenuously looking at anything but Puck, then make her excuses, being always nice and polite. On Monday, she arrived with Brittany at the table already occupied by Santana, Puck, Matt and Mike with a smile for everyone (the one directed at Puck was infinitely brighter and was met with a scowl) and took her seat. There was a pregnant silence that lasted precisely three seconds before Puck stood up, glared at her, and stalked away, shoving Jacob Ben-Israel into the vending machines on his way out of the cafeteria. That was the last time she saw him at lunch.

On Tuesday, Rachel prepared a solo to sing on glee that she hoped would convey her deep regret over the way she'd treated him and her intention to work things out. Incidentally, Schue shepherded them to the local roller rink given that they were now banned from the auditorium thanks to Coach Sylvester's pull on Figgins. Everybody complained loudly about how the Cheerios always got what they wanted and Santana, Brittany and Rachel were on the receiving end of very intense waves of sustained (and, in the case of Kurt and Mercedes, divalicious) fury. Puck just stared at her, not at the other two Cheerios, and she didn't know what it was about that look that made her scurry to the nearest bathroom and cry until she was dried out. She didn't sing that day, or that week for the matter.

On Wednesday, she baked a batch of her famous star-shaped sugar cookies just for him. She decorated them with white and green icing and arranged them in a little basket, refraining to adding ribbons because she had the feeling he would deem them unmanly. She broke into his locker (thank you, Santana) and left them there. No note. She was sure he'd know who they were from, and she was right, given that after second period she went to her locker to change books and found the basket of cookies returned and untouched. Rachel ate them all, sitting alone in her car having skipped third period and praying Sylvester didn't find her pity partying with the help of 2000+ calories. Then the day got even worse when, come lunch time, she found that Matt and Mike were angry at her and taking Puck's side; they, according to Brittany, refused to sit at the same table with Rachel, and were meeting their sulking friend for lunch. Britt was upset, enough not to comment about her cat reading her diary, and Santana said in no plain terms that Rachel had better fix things or else she'd take matters in her own hands.

On Thursday, Rachel skipped school altogether. Ridden by guilt, she couldn't stand seeing the anger and disappointment in her friends' eyes. She spent the whole day crying her heart out and eating, which wasn't a stellar combination since she ended up vomiting again, her indigestion back in full force.

On Friday, she was done moping. Coach Sylvester's philosophy actually came in handy: Whatever It Took. So, Rachel formulated a plan, but she was going to need help.

Santana was throwing a party that night after the Cheerios pep rally and the interview with Splits Magazine, celebrating her dad's absence from town for the weekend. After she told her friends what she was going to do to make things right with Puck, she and Brittany assured her that she had their full support (Santana also patted her in the back, actually said _Atta girl_, and confessed she never thought she'd see the day where Rachel would burst from her cocoon and get her bitch on). Getting Matt and Mike to help her was harder, yes, but Rachel was nothing if not relentless: she _always_ got what she wanted, and her baking skills were legendary. They didn't have a chance to say to after she promised them a 2-week supply of brownies.

So yes, now she was standing before the locked door of Santana's pool house, breathing in and out and willing her nerves to calm down. Things were going to be difficult enough without worrying over her nervous system shutting down on her. Mentally delivering a Berry (patent pending) pep talk, she reached for the key on the waistband of her Cheerio skirt, unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing the dim interior of the pool house and the Mohawked boy gagged and tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

He did not look happy.

In fact, if looks could kill, Rachel had the feeling her body would've been sliced, crushed and burnt after mere seconds of being the sole focus of Puck's attention.

Joy.

Oooo

Rachel Berry was demented. There was no denying that. The woman was a first class candidate for a straightjacket and had to be tossed in a loony house asap. She simply wasn't in her right mind.

Okay, so maybe all the rancor (what? He knows words!) was because this little trick was humiliating. Shaft and Other Asian fucking _dominated _him and tied him down to a fucking chair in Santana fucking Lopez's fucking pool house. _And_ they gagged him with one of his own socks, so now, in addition to the whole tied up and gagged business, his right foot was cold and his mouth tasted funny. He knew he should've put on fresh socks that morning.

Fuck. His. Life.

Seriously, what the fuck? Weren't they supposed to _his_ friends? What about the bro code, huh? Did they just forget it fucking existed?

First thing after he got out of this fucking chair, Puck was going to find his two little skewed sidekicks, duct tape them to each another and deliver them with a big red ribbon in Sue Sylvester's bedroom. That'll teach them not to mess with Puckzilla.

He knew Rachel was the mastermind behind his lameass kidnap. She was the only one crazy enough to think that _tying him down to a chair and gagging him_ could actually work to solve their problems. As if he wasn't a hundred times angrier at her now than he was before. If she wanted to fucking apologize and expect him to forgive her after doing this little number on him, he would not be responsible for his actions. If he broke out of his bindings and murdered her, Puck would be perfectly justified.

(Except he knew he wouldn't. Hurt her or anything, that is. He'd never lay a hand on a woman other than to cause 'em sweet pleasure.)

(The part about breaking out of his bindings was totally true, though. He was all badass James Bond like that.)

Just then he heard the lock click, his hazel eyes darting to the slowly opening door. Oh, bitch was going _down_.

"Hello Noah," Rachel said evenly, locking the door behind her and walking confidently to stand in front of him. She didn't waver under the sheer deadliness in his gaze, at least not visibly, but she did smiled softly, like she was trying to say sorry silently.

The fuck was up with that? Puck was shooting her the Puckerman Death Glare™ and she fucking _smiled_ at him? Chick _was_ loco.

"I'm sorry it had to come down to this, but really you left me with no choice," she started. "It's high time we have a conversation and I, for one, think this little game we've been playing is infantile."

Seriously? _Now_ she thought it was infantile, after she spent a whole fucking week doing that same shit to him?

"And frankly, we are both mature enough to face the consequences of our actions. Or at least I am." She took a step closer and tentatively touched the duct tape stuck over his mouth and part of his cheeks, securing the sock inside his mouth. "If I take this off, will you be civil?"

How exactly did she expect him to answer that?

"A nod will suffice." Still impervious to his glare, she smiled cheekily, obviously finding the situation amusing.

Puck gave the slightest of nods and fixed his eyes on her plump mouth as she stepped closer, her bare knees touching his, fingering the end of the duct tape. "This will hurt a little," she told him, and without further ado, tugged the strip off his face.

Holy shit on a tricycle, that fucking HURT.

He growled and she took that as an opportunity to remove the sock off his mouth and step back.

"Are you alright?"

Feeling his eyes wet (shut up. It hurt a lot okay?) and his mouth dry, his left eye twitched manically and anger poured out of him.

"Trust me Berry, you don't want me to answer that," Puck spat out, fighting to free his hands. "Un-fucking-tie me, woman!"

Her lips narrowed to a thin, tight line (how could she even do that? Her lips were like, crazy plump). "There's no need to be crass."

"Berry, so help me, if you don't let me out of this chair right now, I will make your life a living Jew hell," he threatened. "You're gonna be so terrorized, you'll have to go live in a community of midgets for the rest of your life to get away from me. And even then, I'll find you and end you."

She rolled her eyes. "I'd like to see you try."

"Lemme go!" he whined.

"I thought we were going to have a civil conversation!"

Puck stared at her like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You had me kidnapped," he said very slowly like she was a retarded 3-year-old. "Does that strike you as civil?"

Rachel rolled her eyes again and huffed. "I thought you would want to cooperate, but since you clearly don't, you leave no choice than to gag you again."

"Don't you fucking dare! Rachel, I'm serious, don't you put that fucking thing in my—mmhff!"

Shaking her head, Rachel pushed the sock further into his mouth and stuck the duct tape over his lips again before he could spit it out. "Well then, this will have to be a one-sided conversation. After you hear what I have to say, I'll remove the gag again and you can say your peace," she informed him, her back turned to him as she walked away until she stood in the center of the room. Her skirt flared when she abruptly turned round to face him again.

(He totally saw her panties by the way. White cotton boy-shorts.)

(Her Cheerio spankies? Those are at his house buried in his underwear drawer. So he conveniently forgot to return them after she ran out on him, so what? He earned those.)

"I know you're angry at me," she started, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

No shit, Sherlock.

"And I know you want an explanation."

His brow arched perfectly as he waited for her to elaborate.

"But before that, I wanted to make sure you have a full grasp on just how deeply sorry I am for my behavior." Her brown eyes brightened as she watched him. "I had planned this for Tuesday, but with the auditorium fiasco I doubted testing our teammates' nerves with a solo when they were so rightfully upset was a good idea."

His eyebrow shot up higher up his forehead. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Fixing her eyes on his, Rachel started singing softly, using a tone of voice she rarely used in her glee performances.

_I'm sorry  
Two words I always think  
After you've gone  
When I realize I was acting all wrong_

Okay, so she was sorry. Whatever. He already knew that.

So selfish  
Two words that could describe  
Oh actions of mine  
When patience is in short supply

We don't need to say goodbye  
We don't need to fight and cry  
Oh we, we could hold each other tight tonight

Rachel Berry was Xtra crazy if she thought she could get away with just a song. Okay, maybe the fact the way she moved when she sang made her fantastic rack push up against her Cheerio top wasn't so horrible. And yeah, the way she was looking at him right now wasn't totally horrible and the words were kinda getting to him and maybe he wasn't so angry anymore…but still, come on!

_We're so helpless  
We're slaves to our impulses  
We're afraid of our emotions  
And no one knows where the shore is  
We're divided by the ocean  
And the only thing I know is  
That the answer isn't for us  
No, the answer isn't for us_

I'm sorry  
Two words I always think  
Oh after you've gone  
When I realize I was acting all wrong

Rachel was nuttier than squirrel spunk. For real. Now that he'd said that, he could focus on how beautiful her face looked when she sang like that, how her feelings were visible in every part of her body, and how the muscles on her throat tensed with every note. He remembered how her pulse point had felt under his lips and tongue, her breath in his ear, her hands running down his Mohawk…

Fuck. Why did she leave him that night?

_We don't need to say goodbye  
We don't need to fight and cry  
We, we could hold each other tight tonight  
Tonight  
Tonight  
Tonight  
Tonight... _

He gulped down as she finished the last note. He didn't know what the fuck was going on between him and Rachel, but Puck didn't like the feeling deep in his gut that had accompanied him for the past two weeks. It was dangerously similar to what he'd felt when Quinn called him a Lima Loser, only harder to ignore.

He waited until she started talking again. What else could he do, really?

"I don't know why I left you that night," Rachel said, her head down, finally averting her gaze. "I suppose I was overwhelmed. But you— you did nothing wrong, Noah," her eyes shot up and met his briefly before darting back down. "I handled the entire situation poorly; I've been regretting my every step since I walked out that night, but then I was so embarrassed I couldn't look at you-" her voice broke and held his gaze this time. "I am so, so sorry."

His heart melted right then. In a totally badass way, of course.

He nodded, trying to make his eyes tell her it was okay and she could un-gag him now. She seemed to understand, as she approached him and yanked the duct tape off his mouth again. It didn't hurt nearly as much as the other time, but he was too busy staring into her quizzical eyes.

Spitting out the dirty sock, he managed a smile even if he was in desperate need to drink something to get the funky taste off his mouth. "We're cool," he answered her unspoken question.

Rachel skipped over and launched herself to hug him. Chick was bat shit crazy, he thought fondly as he breathed in the smell of her hair.

She produced a water of bottle out of thin air and helped him to drink until he was satisfied, while still comfortably perched on his lap, her free hand flat against his pecs.

"So Berry," he said after he had quenched his thirst. "Are you gonna lemme go now?"

She bit her lip. "Not yet," she said softly, her index finger running the lines of his strong jaw. "I still have to make it up to you."

She was a helluva kisser, Puck already knew, but there was something about not being able to run his hands through her hair or press her closer as their lips collided and their tongues danced that made this particular make out session unique. He'd missed her lips for two fucking weeks.

But things were rapidly escalating and he was _still_ tied down to a fucking chair. He needed to touch her or he'd, like, die or something.

"Babe, c'mon, untie me," he pleaded against her mouth, his voice coming out husky and low. "I need to get my hands on you."

When she broke the kiss almost immediately, he wanted to shoot himself.

When she parted his knees, he feared for his manhood.

When she slowly got down on her knees and smirked up at him reaching for his fly, he grunted in anticipation.

When she brazenly confessed she didn't have a gag reflex, he thanked Hashem. Out loud.

When she smiled all bright at him and took him in her mouth, he stopped thinking altogether.

ooo

**So people? Like it? Review!**


	10. Good

**Thank you for all the amazing reviews/alerts/fav! I love you all! And Lori, you know I love you girl! Best Beta ever!**

Chapter ten: Good

"Puckerman, what the fuck? That Glist is total bull. I am second best to _nobody_," Santana lashed out as soon as Puck took his seat at the circular table between Rachel and Mike.

"Yeah dude, in what universe is Finn more promiscuous than me?" Matt piped up. "Dude's a fucking virgin."

His already severely short temper starting to kick in, Puck narrowed his eyes and fixed his friends with a dark glare. "You too? For the last time, I didn't fucking do it!"

"Drop the act already, it's exactly the kind of thing you'd do," Santana sneered, keeping her face from showing any kind of sign that she knew for certain that Matt's statement was far from true. "Don't get me wrong, I wish I had thought of it first, but you could have shown a little love for your friends there. You think I'm number two? To Quinn? What's wrong with you? Have you not _seen_ me?"

"I don't understand why I only made it fourth on the glist," Brittany cut in, looking at no one in particular, her eyelids heavy and her voice groggy. "I've made out with every straight guy in the school, and with some of the Cheerios too. I even copped a feel with Rachel's boob once when she was sleeping."

Silence fell upon the group as they regarded Brittany's confession. "You did?" Rachel choked out.

The blonde nodded. "It was an accident though," she blinked. Then she said blankly "It was really perky."

"I believe Puck when he said didn't do it," Mike jumped in defense of his boy, resuming the conversation as if Brittany hadn't contributed to it at all.

"I do too." Rachel nodded fervently, her hand sneaking under the table to rest on Puck's thigh. "His ego is monumental. He would've put himself on the top of the list, not third."

He smiled genuinely at her, making a mental note to properly thank her later.

"Fine," Santana admitted grudgingly. "But whoever did this is going to have his ass kicked Lopez-style. Nobody fucks with my reputation."

"Damn right," Mike held out his fist for a bump and she returned it.

"I'm sorry, but I think I'm the only one with a legitimate right to be offended," Rachel cut in impatiently. "You all may not be happy with the rankings, but not only am I on the bottom of the Glist, I'm negative five. _Negative_," she stressed. "That's not even a real number. The author clearly thinks I'm an asexual being, like an amoeba or something equally unattractive."

"I have a cousin named Eva," Brittany said, her eyes unfocused. She then frowned. "I want to pee, but I don't remember how to leave."

"What's up with her?" Puck asked genuinely concerned.

"She's weirder today than normal," Matt added unnecessarily and Mike nodded in agreement.

Santana's lips tightened, concern flashing on her face as she reached out to touch Brittany's forehead with the back of her hand. "She has a cold and she took her antibiotics all at once this morning," she sighed. "I'm gonna take her to the nurse."

"I'll come with," Mike offered and together they ushered Brittany away.

"So who do you think did it?" Matt asked leaning over the table after they watched their friends disappear through the doors of the cafeteria.

"Given that I'm _negative five_," Rachel said bitterly and pursed her lips. "I'm betting it was either Kurt or Mercedes."

"Nah," Puck shook his head, his arm on the back of her chair. "Kurt would've put Finn at the top of the Glist in big, pink, neon letters. With little sequin hearts around it and 'I love' in brackets before his name."

"And I've seen Mercedes checking me out," Matt added. "There's no way she likes Finn's white ass better than mine."

"Well, it doesn't seem like something Artie and Tina would do, and I sincerely doubt Quinn would be the perpetrator of such a horrendous list, with her high set of morals" Rachel frowned, her fingers mindlessly tracing random patterns on Puck's thigh. "None of us did it, so that leaves Finn."

"Dude can't lie for shit," Puck countered. "It was probably just one of the hockey monkeys thinking they're badass."

"Well, be it as it may, I hope Mr. Schuester finds the culprit and delivers a fitting punishment for jeopardizing glee club."

Puck smirked knowingly. "You're totally pissed you didn't rank higher. Admit it, you want to get your goody two-shoes image dirtied up."

Matt chuckled.

Rachel held his gaze as her hand made its way higher up his thigh, her fingers dipping into the pocket of his jeans ever so slightly.

"Do you think that's bad?" she asked coyly.

Puck's breath caught in his chest as another part of his anatomy became alive, awake, aware and fucking enthusiastic.

"Okay, I'm outta here," Matt mumbled, entirely uncomfortable witnessing the lovebirds eye-fucking in front of him.

"Tease," Puck growled, adjusting himself under the table.

She smirked. "Not at all. I plan to finish what I started."

His brow shot up and he smiled crookedly as his finger twined with hers and placed their joined hands over his knee. "Is that so?"

Rachel nodded, biting her lip. "Are you free tonight? I want to work on a little project with you."

"Why, Rachel, I thought you'd never ask."

Ooo

"So, when you said 'project' you actually meant it?"

Rachel sighed tiredly, finding his bafflement entirely not amusing. "Wasn't that what I said?"

"Yeah, but I thought that was like girl talk for 'I want a piece of Puckzilla'," he confessed flatly, looking entirely ridiculous (hot) wearing her Phantom mask. "You actually want to work on 'Run Joey Run' for that lame ass glee assignment? That's gotta be one of the worst songs ever recorded. I mean, I know there are some sick fuckers out there and tragedy happens every day, but writing a song about a dude shooting dead his pregnant daughter? What the actual fuck was David Geddes huffing when he penned that one?"

"That's exactly why I think it's the perfect song to reinvent," she said enthusiastically bouncing on her heels. "It's got drama, and we get to play roles as well as resurrecting it from the depths of lameness with flawless, harmonized vocals."

Putting the white mask back in place over the dresser, Puck turned around and went to sit on the foot of the bed. As Rachel waited anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her flower patterned dress, he regarded her intently. "I'll do it," he agreed before he grinned, amused. "With one condition."

She frowned and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I'm not willing to trade sexual favors for your collaboration with this project."

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, thanks for the vote of confidence. As if I needed to ask you to put out."

"Need I remind you that we haven't actually had intercourse yet?" Rachel huffed, offended, watching as Puck shot up from the bed.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? It's not like I've been pushing you," he countered angrily.

And it was totally true. They hadn't gone much further than that night at Santana's party last week when she blew him, and they had only made out and groped ever since. And he was fine with it. Rachel wasn't a quick fuck.

Rachel looked on in stunned surprise as he made his way towards her bedroom door. Stopping in his tracks, Puck turned around to scowl at her before he stormed out of the house. "Fuck this. I was gonna ask you to go out with me on an actual date but whatever."

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant-" her heartbeat quickening, Rachel leapt across the room and came to stand before the open door, effectively blocking his way out. "A date sounds lovely," she smiled apologetic reaching to rest her hand on his arm.

Puck frowned. Just when he thought he had an idea of what was going on between him and Rachel, this happened. He thought he'd made it clear by now that he cared about her and that he didn't just want to fuck her. Maybe he did that first time they hooked up, but if he had learned anything from those two shit-awful weeks they'd been avoiding and ignoring one another it was that Rachel Berry meant more to him than he'd cared to admit. So maybe he hadn't told her any of this and had been pretty busy enjoying the physical aspect of their quasi friend-fuck-buddy-ship, but Rachel was smart! How could she not read between the lines and figure out that by 'Babe, your ass is worth the price of admission alone' he also meant 'I kinda like you'?

Anyway, when she came to him to help her with the assignment, Puck had been thrilled. Mind you, the song sucked and no matter how hard they tried it would be forever cemented right next to the Backstreet Boys' discography as the shittiest shit to ever see the shitty light of day, but Rachel fucking Berry wanted him, _Noah Puckerman,_ to help her with it, with no ulterior motives.

And then she'd gone and assumed he'd demand sexual compensation for his trouble. Nice.

"This isn't just a _thing_, Rachel…I'm not a piece of meat either," he leveled with her, sounding way too much of a pussy than he was comfortable. "I know I'm a grade-A specimen of raw Jew masculinity and that my guns are like chick magnets, but there's more to me than that. And I'm an asshole, but I wouldn't ask you to put out in exchange for helping you."

Rachel nodded, gnawing her bottom lip. "I know that, I just- I don't what's going on with me lately, I get all worked up from stupid little things and I think the worst of everyone..."

He gently tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, relishing the feel of the silky strand. "You need to stop hanging out with Sylvester, she's rotting your brain" he joked and she smiled. "So how about that date? Tomorrow good for you?"

She nodded enthusiastically and held his hand tightly in hers as she led him back deeper into her room. "Absolutely. But now, we need to start working."

"Okay," he paused for a second as he took the sheet music she gave him. "We're still making out after we get this shit done, right? 'Cause I know I said all that, but I'm still a dude and you're hot in that dress." He winked and grinned unashamedly.

Rachel laughed heartily. "Do you really need to ask, Noah?"

Ooo

Puck was not a jealous guy, okay? He's used to sharing girls and cougars with their boyfriends and husbands, respectively. He doesn't do serious monogamous relationships, just friendly fucking. That's the way he got all the pussy he wanted and didn't have to deal with feelings and shit. When he was with Santana, they weren't exclusive or anything. Hell, they didn't even talk much. She was what he liked think he'd be like had he been born a girl, and she returned the sentiment. They were good friends, yeah, but being together _together_ was like the 4th sign of the Apocalypse. The universe just wasn't prepared to handle their shit combined.

He'd also been totally honest with Quinn when he said he didn't need to change his ways to be a good dad. He wanted to be with her because she was the mother of his child and he wasn't a deadbeat like his dad, but that didn't mean he was up and ready to cut off his supply of pussy just to prove himself to someone who insisted he was a Lima Loser.

Rachel Berry…well, she was a whole other (strange) story. He knew she was hung up on Finn when they dated the first time around, and Puck was totally cool with that, it's not like he was in love with her. He wanted to get in her pants, yes, and maybe he got some sick pleasure being able to hold her hand and make out with her in public when he knew Finn wanted to be the one doing it. He wasn't into Rachel then any more than he was into any other hot girl that happened to cross the Puckerone's path.

But during that one week back fall, Noah Puckerman was one hundred percent faithful to his quasi-girlfriend. He ignored Santana's sexts and Mrs. Ferguson's blatant invitations to unclog her pipes (and boy did those pipes need unclogging).

But back to the point, he's not a jealous guy. He never needed to be.

Jesse St. James was quickly changing that.

It started like this.

True to his word, Puck took Rachel out on Wednesday night. Dinner and a movie sounded way too cliché, so instead he packed a thermos of scalding hot cocoa, several blankets, his mother's and his ice skates and drove them to the park for a night of fun on the frozen lake.

Rachel excelled at ice skating, like she did every other activity she undertook. But she wasn't too giddy not to notice that Puck was totally bluffing every time he said he was losing his balance and launched at her for support, only to cop a feel of her boobs and/or ass.

She bitched over the cocoa because the milk would irreversibly damage her vocal chords and he should've thought about their impending performance and the significance it held for her to deliver a flawless piece but drank two mugs anyway, relishing in the warmth it spread through her body. Cocooned with him in a big blanket, on the bed of his truck, she couldn't stop laughing as Puck tried to give her a lesson in astronomy, pointing out constellations she sincerely doubted were recognized as valid by the scientific community as the majority were named after sexual positions.

One hour before her curfew, Rachel's daddy called her, apologized for interrupting their date and asked his daughter if she could swing by the pharmacy on their way home and pick up his asthma medicine, since he'd forgotten to get it earlier and was loathe to drive downtown so late at night. Puck drove them back to the city, stopping at the pharmacy. That's when Jesse St. James jumped in the equation.

He approached them on the line to cash out, his cart filled with a variety of moisturizers and hair mousse. He recognized Rachel immediately, as she did him, and soon began complimenting and discussing each other's talent and performances, range and repertoire.

It's not like Puck felt threatened by the guy or anything; he was a licensed stud BAMF and St. James had nothing on him. But he was on a date, dammit! Rachel's undivided attention should be focused on him, not some douche with a life time supply of skin care products.

His anger simmering, Puck did the only thing a smart guy in his situation would do: mark his territory. Rachel didn't notice, as she was in the middle of exchanging obscure Tony trivia with Jesse (how many ties _were_ there in Tony history?), but Puck's grip on her waist grew tighter as he conveyed death and mayhem through his eyes directed solely to St. Douche Bag, warning him off.

The little knowing smile on Jesse's face as Puck's scowl darkened? Fucking annoying.

The visible scowl he bore when he saw Puck pin Rachel to the side door of his truck and kissed her senseless? Fucking phenomenal.

Okay, so dry humping in his truck on a dark, desolated corner of the pharmacy parking lot wasn't exactly what Puck had planned for the night; he actually wanted to prove to Rachel that he'd meant what he said the other day about being more of him, of _them_, than just foreplay inevitably leading to fucking (repetitively, God willing). But hell, after they left the pharmacy and she _fucking exchanged phone numbers with St. Faggot,_ Puck just had to remind Rachel somehow that she was on a date with him and that he didn't fucking appreciated to see his friend who was a girl (no, not 'girlfriend'…still she was _his _fucking_ girl),_ mooning over some other dude right in front of him. The hell was up with that? He was a confident guy, but come on! That was just wrong.

When he first pinned her to the side of his truck, he was pissed and made absolutely sure St. Asshole saw him with his tongue down Rachel's throat. After a few minutes, he heard the douchebag peel off the parking lot and, satisfied that he'd coiled Rachel just right, Puck abruptly broke off and jumped behind the wheel waiting for Rachel to come off her post-make out haze and get in. She panted a few times, completely ignorant to Puck's thunderous mood, and got inside, closing the door with shaky hands.

"Wow." She was still visibly catching her breath, cheeks flushed, eyes striving to meet his gaze, which was studiously fixed upfront. "What was that for?" she asked coyly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

The muscles of his jaw tensed visibly, his frown deepening.

"Noah? What's- what's the matter?"

His head snapped to the side so fast she was sure heard a crack. "Really? After spending twenty minutes mooning over some dude in front of me, do you really need to ask?"

"Mooning? Noah-"

"I was right there, Rachel. If you want to jump his moisturized ass and his perfectly gay hair, at least do it when I'm not looking!" Puck said, his hands up in the air for dramatic effect.

This was when she was supposed to apologize. She was not supposed to laugh at him.

"And they call me a drama queen!" she said between chuckles as she dabbed the corners of her eyes dry of tears. "Noah, you are sorely mistaken," she hiccupped, bringing a hand to her diaphragm to calm her breathing while still grinning like a maniac. "I assure you I'm in no way interested in 'jumping' Jesse St. James."

"Then what the hell was up with you two back there?" he gritted out.

"I was gathering information from Vocal Adrenaline's male lead, sizing up our competition if you may," she shrugged. "And anyway, with your dark, satanic scowls I doubt he'll be getting the idea of forging anything other than a fickle friendship with me."

"So you were just using him?" he frowned as he inched closer to her. "What if he wants to use you too, to gather information and that sort of thing?"

"I'm sure he will try, he seemed fairly smart," she shrugged again. "I just have to be smarter than him," Rachel said huskily, tracing random patterns with her finger over his thigh.

"Let's not talk about St. Dickhead anymore," Puck suggested with a smirk as he chased her further into the bench until her back was pressed against it and Puck laid on top of her.

Ooo

She realized she might be pregnant that very night. Ironically, she did so while contemplating having sex with Noah in the near future, as his lips latched hers and his hands roamed over her body, and made lists to ensure their first time together was special. It seemed important that it was.

So, she made a mental note to buy some sexy lingerie, since her regular choice of undergarments wasn't exactly designed to entice, but rather to make her comfortable. An appropriate play list on her iPod to set the mood was also in order; it would have to be classy, but sensual, and she should take into consideration Noah's musical preferences as well, as to not make him uncomfortable. Still, she was sure he wouldn't be opposed to some of Spring Awakening's more suggestive pieces. Also, she should look into other venues for intercourse instead of his truck; she didn't doubt their amazing chemistry would make them enjoy the act no matter the location, but she'd rather to be comfortable their first time, preferably with a bed nearby. It's not like there wouldn't be other times following that first when they could venture into more risqué venues. Santana had been speaking wonderful things about that new place in town she went to wax, so maybe Rachel would try and get an appointment as well.

She should check her calendar to make sure her monthlies didn't interfere with her plans with Noah either. What was the date today? When was her last period?

When she realized that the memory of her last period was far too distant to her own liking, she started to fret. Which was decidedly not good since she was writhing under Noah at the moment. He sensed something was wrong, stopped kissing her, and asked her if everything was okay.

Summoning her impeccable acting skills, she said yes, absolutely, she was just worried about not making it home in time. He grinned and kissed her one last time before he took her home and walked her to the front door.

She was nearly panicking when she finally locked herself behind her bedroom door, eluding her dad's exited questions about how the date had gone. She was scared, terrified, and she felt she'd be physically sick any moment now. This just couldn't be happening to her.

Her cycle was spot on regular. In fact, she had been late only once that she could recall, and that was due to extreme stress brought about by a statewide Talent Quest that she entered when she was 14 (she lost 5 pounds but gained a 1st prize trophy). She also diligently documented her periods in her journal, along with all the activities she had every day. It helped her keep her life organized and recorded for future reference. She had a separate 'creative' journal, dedicated to register her inspirations, thoughts and ideas daily.

According to her journal, her last period was a little over six weeks ago, meaning that she should've had her monthlies the week before last. Rachel was nearly two weeks late.

And precisely four weeks ago, she'd had sex in a smelly closet with an anonymous, somewhat unattractive guy.

She'd been careful, she knew she had been. She wouldn't have done it without protection.

It was impossible.

It was insane.

This could not be happening to her.


End file.
